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IAN HAY 



THE CRIMSON 
COCOANUT 




AND OTHER PLAYS 



Walter H. Baker 6 Co., Boston 









THE AMA70NS ■^^''®® ^'^ Three Acts. Seven males, five females. 
««*«** ' Costumes, modern ; scenery, not difficult. Plays 
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THE CABINET MINISTER f-««i-F;-^/«*«- Tenmales nme 

females. Costumes, modern society ; 
scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

HANDY HICIT ^^^^^ ^ Three Acts. Seven males, four females. 
Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors. Plays 
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THF fiAY LORD OUEX ^<^"^®*^y ^ ^^^^ Acts. Four males, ten 
11U( UA Lt U y^ u females. Costumes, modern; scenery, 
two interiors and an exterior. Plays a full evening. 

HIC HAITW IN AOnPD Comedy in Four Acts. Nine males, four 
UW UUU3C in UWIHIi fej^aies. Costumes, modern; scenery, 

three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

THF HORRY HORSF comedy in Three Acts. Ten males, five 
females. Costumes, modern; scenery easy. 
Plays two hours and a half. 

IRIS I^rama in Five Acts. Seven males, seven females. Costumes, 
modern ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

T ADY ROTTNTIFIII ^^^y "^ Four Acts. Eight males, seven fe- 

U w 1 \)Lt jjjg^igg Costumes, modem ; scenery, four in- 

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I pTTV I*^^'^*'' ^ Four Acts and an Epilogue. Ten males, live fe- 
males. Costumes, modern ; scenery complicated. Plays a 
full evening. 



Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

l^alter i^* iSafter & Compani? 

No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts 



The Crimson Cocoanut 

And Other Plays 



The Crimson Cocoanut 

And Other Plays 
By IAN HAY BEITH 



All rights reserved under the International Copyright Act. 
Performance forbidden and right of repi-esentation reserved. 
Application for the right of performing any of the plays con- 
tained in this volume whether by amateurs or by professional 
actors must be made to the author's agent, Mr. R. L. Scaife, 
in care of Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 4 Park St., Boston, 
Mass., and all royalties should be paid to him. 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 
1913 







Copyright, 191 3, by Ian Hay Beith 

As Author and Proprietor 



All rights reserved 

PLEASE NOTICE 

The professional stage rights in these plays are strictly re- 
served by the author to whose agent applications for its use 
should be addressed. Amateurs may obtain permission to pro- 
duce them privately on payment of a fee of five dollars (^5,00) 
for each performance of each play, always in advance. Cor- 
respondence on this subject should be addressed and all such 
payments made to R. L. ScAiFE, care Houghton, Mifflin & 
Co., 4 Park St., Boston, Mass. 

Attention is called to the penalties provided by law for any 
infringments of the author's rights, as follows : 

"Sec. 4966: — Any person publicly performing or representing any 
dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, 
without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composi- 
tion, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, such 
damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred 
dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance, as 
to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and rep- 
resentation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty 
of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction be imprisoned for a period not 
exceeding one year." — U. S. Revised Statutes, Titie do, Chap. 3. 



g)C!,D 34990 



V 
V 5 



^ 



Contents 



PAGE 



The Crimson Cocoanut .... 7 
An Absurdity in One Act 

A Late Delivery ..... 49 

A Little Play in Three Episodes 

The Missing Card 95 

A Comedietta in One Act 



The Crimson Cocoanut 
An Absurdity in One Act 



The Crimson Cocoanut 



CHARACTERS 

NiTRO Gliserinski, an anarchist. 

Madame Gliserinski. 

Mr. Jabstick. 

Nancy Jabstick, his daughter. 

Jack Pincher, of Scotland Yard. 

Robert, waiter at Spaghetti s. 

Scene.— Spaghetti's restaurant, Soho. 



The Crimson Cocoanut 



SCEKE. — A Soho Bestaurant. E. a Jcitchen- 
lift and speahing-tube, E. u. E door. c. 
entrance^ toith hat-stand^ etc. L. a sofa and 
sideboard. Two restaurant tables^ with 
dingy cloths and silver, E. c. and L. C. 
Three chairs at each table. On the walls 
the usual restaurant advertisements, etc. 
Glasses and bottles on sideboard, with siphon 
and bread-bashet. Cahe-sta/nd {wicker) by 
entrance c. 

RoBEET, the waiter, is asleep on sofa, com- 
pletely covered by a neiospaper except for his 
feet, which project toward audience. 

Enter mysteriously, c, Jack PliS'CHEE. He 
wears a rather obvious false nose. He loohs 
round cautiously, tahes off his nose, and 
tiptoes about, peeping under tables, etc., ad 
lib. Once Robeet stirs and grunts under 
the newspaper. PllsrcHEE claps on his nose 
and drops into a chair at one of the tables, 
trying to look lihe a customer. RoBEET 



lO THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

makes no further 7)iovement, and PiNCHER 
continues to investigate, listening down 
sj>eahing-tube, etc. Finally^ after peejping 
under the newspaper at fioBEET, he sits 
down E. c, and writes report in note-hooh^ 
reading aloud. 

PiNCHEE. 

[^Reading. 1 " In accordance with instruc- 
tions, I visited Spaghetti's Restaurant, Soho, at 
2 : 15 p. M., on Thursday, the ITth inst., in dis- 
guise. The restaurant was empty, and the 
waiter was asleep on a sofa. I searched the 
premises thoroughly, but could find no suspi- 
cious-looking package or parcel which could be 
said to answer the description supplied to me 
from headquarters." There, there's nothing 
pleases the authorities like a full report, espe- 
cially when there is nothing in it ! Well, I must 
be off. [ Writes.'] " At 2 : 25 I withdrew from 
the restaurant to the street, where I took up a 

favorable position, for the purpose " 

Hallo, there's a door there ! I may as well see 
what's behind it. [Crosses E., opens door, and 
looks.] A passage ! H'm ! I haven't got a 
search warrant, but as everybody seems to be 
asleep, I may as well seize the opportunity. I 
may find what I'm after. [Exit, E. 

[Pause. Enter Me. Jabstick and his 
daughter, JSTancy, c. Me. Jabstick 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 1 1 

is a choleric old gentleman with a very 
red face. He is in a had temj^er^ it 
heing long past his luncheon hour. 

Mr. Jabstick. 

Come along, Nanc j, come along, come along ! 
Don't be all day. I want my lunch, my lunch, 
my lunch ! Do you hear ? I'm sick and tired 
of standing outside shops having my toes trod- 
den on, while you are wasting my money in- 
side. Come along, come along, come along ! 

[lie thrusts his urribrella into the cake- 
stand hy the door and stumps down to 
table L. c, where he sits facing R. 

E'AIS'CY. 

{Coming down,' she has been arranging her 
hat at a mirror on the wall.] Yery well, dad. 
Take off your hat and ring for the waiter. 

[She sits R. of the table. Mr. Jabstick 
takes of his hat and absently feels 
about for someiohere to put it^ while he 
reads the menu. He ultimately hangs 
it on Robert's yb(9^, which is project- 
ing from the sofa behind him. Then he 
rings the bell on the table furiously . 

Mr. Jabstick. 
Waiter, waiter, waiter I What a place ! 
What a hole ! Not a soul ! Waiter, waiter, 
waiter ! 



12 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

Nancy. 
\Stoj>ping him.'] Father, what a noise ! 
Give them a chance. 

[Robert shakes off his newspaper and 
sits up. He is middle-aged and seedy- 
loohing, evidently with a profound 
contempt for his calling and his cus- 
tomers. After regarding Mr. Jab- 
stick's hat disapprovingly^ he puts it 
on floor to ~L. of his chair, llien he 
leans forward and answers mourn- 
fully, right in Jabstick's ear. 

Robert. 
Comin', sir ! 

Mr. Jabstick. 

\Jmnping.'] Ooh ! What's that ? Confound 
it ! What do you mean, sir, by doing that ? 

Robert. 
Bq^ pardon, sir, I'm sure. I didn't know 
you were nervous. [Slaps tahle with napkin. 

Mr. Jabstick. 
Don't do that ! 

Robert. 
Certainly, sir. [Blows crumhs off table. 

Mr. Jabstick. 
[Roaring.] And, confound it, don't do that ! 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 1 3 

Robert. 
Very good, sir. What can I get you ? 

Mr. Jabstick. 
Lunch ! 

J^ANCY. 

Something nice, waiter ! 

Egbert. 
Something nice, miss? Something ni 



You 'aven't bin 'ere before, I suppose ? {She 
shakes her head.'] No, I thought not. 

Nancy. 
What have you got ? 

Robert. 
[Taking up 7nemo.'] Rognons saute, Fillets 
de veau, Yol-au-vent a la jardiniere. Escalopes 
de [All pronounced as spelled. 

Mr. Jabstick. 

Haven't you got any English dishes ? 

Robert. 

Tripe — ninepence ! 

Mr. Jabstick. 
Ugh! 

Nancy. 
Got any oysters ? 



14 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

Egbert. 

Yes, sir — miss ! 

Nancy. 
Are they fresh ? 

Egbert. 
Well, they ought to be gittin' a bit fresh by 
this time. 

E'ancy. 
How long have you had them ? 

Egbert. 

I couldn't say, miss. I've only been 'ere 
seven years. 

Mr. Jabstick. 

{Pointing to menu.] I'll have fillet of beef. 

Egbert. 

I'm sorry, sir, fillet of beef is oif. 

[Marks with pencil in menu, 

Nancy and Mr. Jabstick. 
Off? 

Egbert. 
Yes. It fell off the kitchen dresser this 
mornin', and by the time the cook got it away 
from the cat it simply couldn't be served up be- 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT IS 

fore any lady or gentleman. You'll find it 

lower down now, there \Pointing^ 

" Shepherd's pie, fourpence." Shall I get you 
some, sir ? 

Mr. Jabstick. 
!N'o ! \Lo6ks at menu.'] I'll have chops. 

Egbert. 



Yessir ! 
So will I. 



Nancy. 



Egbert. 

Yes, miss. \_Goes to speaking-tuheJ] Cook! 
Are you there, dear ? 'Ow are you ? Chops 
two, baked 'taters two. \_Co'mes hack L. and 
deals out hread, serviettes, etc.] What will you 
take to drink, sir ? You'll need something, I 
can tell you. 

Mr. Jabstick. 
What do you mean ? 

Egbert. 
You'll see what I mean, sir, when you get 
your chop. What will you take ? 

Mr. Jabstick. 
Glass of claret. 



1 6 THE CRIMSON COCO A NUT 

ISTancy. 
And I'll take some soda water, waiter. 

EOBEET. 

Yes, miss. [ Ooes k. to sideboard and returns 
with bottle^ sijplion and glasses.'] 

[Miter PiNCHER, E. 

PiNCHER. 

IS^o, there's nothing there but an empty room. 
Hallo ! What ? Nancy and her father ? [Hur- 
riedly slips on nose.] Just as well I am dis- 
guised, or he'd recognize me, and think I had 
come here after her. [Sits at table R. c] All 
the same, this is too good a chance to throw 
away. Perhaps I can kill two birds with one 
stone. Waiter, waiter ! 

EOBEET. 

[WJio is filling J^ancy's glass from, the 
siphon.] Comin', sir ! 

[Puts down siphon^ after freely sprin- 
kling Me. Jabstick, and comes R. 

PllS^CHEE. 

What can you give me to eat ? 

EOBEET. 

[Handing him the menu.] Shepherd's pie, 
fourpence. 

[Goes to lift and gets dish of potatoes. 



THE CRIMSON COCOA NUT 1/ 

Nancy. 
Waiter ! 

EOBEET. 

Comin', miss ! {Crosses L. 

N'ancy. 

Waiter, what is this ? 

{Holding out soda-water. 

KOBEET. 

That's threepence a glass, miss. If you want 
it fizzy you must pay fourpence. 

Me. Jabstick. 
{Furiously ^^ Look at this, waiter, look at 
this ! What is it, what is it — in my glass ? 

EOBEET. 

{Taking glass.] It's only a fly, sir. It'll do 
you no 'arm : it's quite dead. Shall I take it 
out for you ? 

{Inserts finger and thicmh into glass. 

Me. Jabstick. 
{Starting iip.] Take your fingers out of that 
glass, at once, at once, at once ! {Puts his foot 
into his own haf] Confound and dash it ! 

What the {Stamps across l. trying to 

shake off the hat^ and fi/iially sits at table again, 



1 8 THE CRIMSON COCO A NUT 

on chair hehind. He picks the hat off his foot^ 
Look at my hat ! Look at it ! Look at it ! 

Egbert. 
Yessir. Beg pardon, sir, but you're sitting 
on the potatoes. Comin', sir! {Goes E. to 
PiNCHER, leaving JS^ancy to pacify her father. 
To PiNCHER.] Did you call, sir ? 

PiNOHER. 

No. 

Egbert. 
Well, would you mind orderin' something ? 
I don't want to go over there [indicating Mr. 
Jabstick] at present. 

PiisrcHER. 

Well, get me a plate of beef and a pint of 
beer. 

Egbert. 
Yessir. [Goes to tube.] Cook ! Beef one, 
swipes one. What ? Chops comin' up ? Eight ! 
[Takes chops out of lift, and crosses L.] Your 
chops, sir ! You've never seen chops done like 
that before, I'll be bound. 

[Takes off cover. Mr. Jabstick in- 
spects them dovhtfully. 

PiNCHER. 

Waiter ! 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 19 

KOBEET. 

Comin', sir. 

\_Puts cover of chops on Mr. Jabstick's 

upturned fist f crosses R. 

PiNCHER. 

Is my lunch coming ? 

Egbert. 
I'll see, sir. [^Goes to lift^ and hrmgs heer 
and heef.] Yes, sir, here it is. 

PiNCHER. 

Can you give me a piece of paper ? 

Egbert. 

What for ? To wrap your dinner up in ? 
You needn't be shy about leavin' it on your 
plate. We're quite used to it 'ere. We shan't 
be offended. 

Pincher. 
E'o, no. To write on. 

Egbert. 
Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. IS'ow, let me 
think. [ZooJcs round.] Ah ! [Goes to tube.'] 
Cook ! What became o' that white paper the 
butter came in this morning ? What ? Oh, 
you are a w^asteful girl! Why can't you use 
a transformation, or Hinde's curlers? [I^uts 



20 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

down tube.] That's no good, l^ow — ah ! [Tears 
hill-check off hook and hands it to Pincher.] 
There, sir! \Goes hack to tuhe.'] Well, Cook, 
'ow are you gettin' on, dear ? No, not much 
doin' 'ere. 'Ow many people ? There's a young 
sprig o' parsley at one table, and a little peach 
and a over-ripe tomater at the other. Well, as 
I was tellin' yer this mornin', there's an adver- 
tisement in the paper [Turns his hack to 

the audience and hecomics inaudihle.'] 

[PiNCHER has finished scribbling his 
note. He surreptitiously hands it to 
E^ANCY. She reads it helow level of 
tahle^ and turns to him. He takes off 
his nose for a moment^ and smiles^ etc. 

Mr. Jabstick. 

[Suddenly.] Waiter ! [All start. 

Egbert. 

Yessir ! 

Mr. Jabstick. 
Is there a hat shop near here ? 

Egbert. 
Yes, sir, about two streets away, sir. 

Mr. Jabstick. 
[Getting up.] Confound it! How am I to 
walk down two streets with this on my head ? 



THE CRIMSON COCO A NUT 21 

Egbert. 

I don't know, sir. You might go without it 
altogether, and pretend you belong to the ]^o 
'At Brigade, sir. 

[Mr. Jabstick throws down his hat 
furiously. 

Mr. Jabstick. 

Gurrh ! \_Goes toward door, and turns. '\ Back 
directly, Nancy. [J<9 Robert.] You miser- 
able idiot ! I shall knock the price of a new 
hat off your bill, sir ! [Seizes his umhrella, 
which brings with it the cake-stand. £usiness.^ 

What on earth ■ ! What the ! Look 

at this infernal umbrella-stand of yours, sir ! 
Look at it ! 

[Hushes out, still struggling with it. 

Robert. 
[^Running after him.'] Beg pardon, sir; 
that's not a umbrella-stand. It's the cake- 
stand, sir ! [Exit c, hastily. 
[Pii^CHER rushes across l. and sits down 
hy JSTancy. They clasp hands. 

PiNCHER. 

My dearest Nancy ! 

Nancy. 

Jack ! What are you doing here ? And in 
that get-up ! 



22 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

PiNCHEE. 

I'm here on business. A red-hot scent, too ! 
We got word at Scotland Yard this morning 
that a noted female anarchist, Madame Gliser- 
inski, landed in London yesterday. She brought 
with her a new and terrible infernal ma- 
chine 

A bomb — oh ! 

PiNCHER. 

Yes. Her husband, Mtro Gliserinski, is 
awaiting her here in Soho. She has been to 
Eussia to fetch the bomb, as he dare not go 
there himself. She will hand it over to him, 
and it is feared that they will then make an 
attempt to blow up the Bank of England ! 

ISTai^'cy. 
Oh, Jack, how awful ! It will rain sover- 
eigns for days. 

PllSrCHER. 

We have been informed that this precious 
pair will probably meet here. The proprietor 
of the place is an old friend of theirs, and is 
well known to the police. We had him quietly 
arrested this morning, without any fuss ; and 
that doddering old waiter is in sole charge of 
the establishment, though he doesn't know it ! 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 23 

Nancy. 
Oh ! And will she give her husband the 
bomb here f 

Pll^CHER. 

I expect so. Indeed, she may have left it 
here already. 

Nancy. 
{Looking around^ What will it be like ? 

PiNCHER. 

I don't know. That's the difficulty. She 
smuggled it through the Customs all right, so 
it can't be very big. But never mind that. 
Fancy meeting yoa here ! 

Nancy. 

Yes — just ! I don't know what father will 
say if he comes back and finds us like this ! 

Business. 

PiNCHER. 

Oh, dear, why haven't I got money ? Then 
everything would be all right. 

Nancy. 
Perhaps you'll get some some day. 

PiNCHER. 

There's a reward of a thousand pounds wait- 
ing for anybody who catches these two anarch- 



24 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

ists — with their bomb. Your dad would give 
his consent if I got that, I suppose ? 

Nancy. 

I should think so! Oh, Jack, catch them, 
quick ! 

{Enter Robert, c. He observes ihem^ 
and hurries E. to sjpeaking-t\ibe. 

PiTnTCHER. 

Rather ! "We could set up house on a thou- 
sand pounds, couldn't we ? 

Nai^cy. 
We could set up two ! {Affectionately. '\ Oh, 
Jack ! 

PiisrcHER. 

Oh, Nancy ! 

{Tahes off his nose. He is ahout to hiss 
her. 

Robert. 
{Down tube.] Cook, wedding-cake for two ! 

Nancy. 
Oh! 

PiNCHER. 

Look here ! {They start tip. 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 25 

Egbert. 
[Coming down.'] Don't mind me, miss. I'm 
that way myself. I've bin courting Cook 'ere 
for a matter of seven years now. It's slow 
work, though. The difficulty is, w^e don't see 
much of each other. I 'ave to do it all down 
the speakin'-tube there ; and, you see, when I'm 
makin' love to her one minute and orderin' 
kidney-beans the next, things get a bit mixed. 
Why, the other day, when business was a bit 
slack, and I 'ad 'alf-an-hour to spare, I tried to 
recite to 'er a bit o' poetry I'd written about 
'er. I got 'old o' the tube and whistled, and 
when she'd finished blamin' me for what she'd 
dropped — she usually drops somethink every 
time I whistle down — I recited the poetry. It 
was a very pretty little thing. It ended up 
something like this : 

^' My boast-in-chief, and my sole pride, are you ! " 

Like that ! Well, p'r'aps I didn't say it clear 
enough, but in about two minutes up comes 
the plate o' roast beef, and a sole, fried, for 
two ! \_Goes up. 

PllS^CHER. 

Well, I can't wait any longer. Come along 
with me, Nancy, and we'll find your father. 
Waiter ! 



26 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

Egbert. 
Yessir ! 

PlJ^CHER. 

I shall be back presently. Just keep your 
eyes open, and let me know if you see any sus- 
picious characters about. My card ! 

{Hands card and exits with l!^A]^rcy, c. 

EOBEET. 

\IleadingP\ Mr. John Pincher, C. I. D., 
Scotland Yard. I wonder what C. I. D. means ? 
{Tries to drink out of Pitcher's tanhard, hut 
finds it empty.'] " Clean it dry ! " I should 
think. [Crosses L. and pours remains of M.'R. 
Jabstick's wine hack in bottle, clears table, etc.'] 
Well, now I've got a little breathin'-space, 
we will resume our conversation. [Takes up 
newspaper.] Now where's that advertisement ? 
[Goes to tube.] Cookie ! 'Ello, dear, 'ow are 
you? What? Startled you again? 'Ow 
many plates ? Six — and a teacup ! You are 
an unlucky girl. These breakages do cut into 
one's bankin' account. I'll call you more gently 
next time. Now, listen: 'ere's the advertise- 
ment. [I^eads.] " To let, model country inn, 
in Surrey. No other licensed house within 
three miles. Would suit " — listen to this, Cookie 
— " would suit married couple, who desire a quiet 
but re — remunerative little business. Pent to 
be agreed upon. Immediate possession, with 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 2/ 

good- will, fixtures, and present stock of choice 
wines and spirits, on payment of five hundred 
pounds." Think of that ! All that for a paltry 
five hundred ! What ? E^o, I know we 'aven't, 
but there's no reason why we shouldn't get it in 
time. 'Ow much 'ave you got laid by now ? 
Oh— that all ? Me ? Well, I couldn't say to 
a penny or so, and of course it's not easy savin', 
you know. There's the cost of livin', and food 
is very dear. Of course I couldn't take my 
meals ''ere. Still, I am full of 'ope. 'Ope 

springs eternal What? JSTo, dear, not 

sov/p — '^6 ! [To himself.'] I'm afraid she's 
not poetical. Oh, we'll save up, never fear! 
Why, a gentleman gave me fourpence yester- 
day. 'E came back five minutes later to bor- 
row a penny of it for his 'bus-fare ; but still, 
that leaves threepence. Don't you be down- 
hearted. ]^ow look 'ere, dear, I'll just drop the 
paper down the lift. [He puts his head in and 
his voice is muffled.'] Third page, top of sec- 
ond column, and just tell me what you think 

[Enter furtively, c, NiTRO Gliserhst- 
SKI. He looks very foreign, and a des- 
perate ruffian. He speaks with a 
strong accent. 

Gliseeiin^ski. 
Yes, zis is the place. Where is the proprie- 
tor? Zey say he is perfectly trustworthy. 



28 THE CRIMSON COCO A NUT 

[Robert comes out of lift, and hegins to arrange 
things on the table, R. c, hunimi7ig.'] Zis must 
be the man. I will gif him the sign. Pst ! 
[E-OBERT tur7is.~\ Attendez, done ! 

[Makes mysterious signs. 

Egbert. 

[Dropping plates.'] A-a-a-h ! [Biishes to the 
other table and helps himself to soda water fe- 
verishly.'] Oh, dear, oh, dear ! 'Ow careless of 
them ! They must have left the 'Ippodrome 
door open. [Gliserinski continues to make 
signs.] I suppose I. must humor it. [Makes 
signs in return, business.] !Now, wot can I 
get for you, sir ? 

Gliseriitski. 
Ha ! Den you do not know vat I vant ? 

Robert. 

[Surveying hhn.] Well, of course, I can see 
one thing you want, but I'm afraid you can't 
'ave it 'ere. I don't think there's enough hot 
water. 

Gliserit^ski. 

[Seizing him by the wrist.] Listen ! [Takes 
him down L.] A lady will come here pres- 
ently. 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 29 

EOBEET. 
{Coldly?^ Oh ! You'll excuse me mention- 
ing the fact, but we 'ave 'ad ladies 'ere before. 

Gliserinski. 
But zis lady has never been here before. 

KOBEET. 

N'o, and I don't suppose she'll ever come 
again. Very few people do. 

Gliserinski. 
lN"ow, listen. She will gif you ze sign. 

Egbert. 
Like wot you gave me ? 

Gliserinski. 
Yes. 

Egbert. 
Oh ! And what shall I do ? 

Gliserinski. 

You will gif ze countersign. 

Egbert. 
Oh ! And what's that ? 

Gliserinski. 
Like zis ! {Business?^ 



30 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

Robert. 
And what do I do then ? 

Gliseri:n^ski. 
You say : *' Haf you any cocoanuts ? " 

[Robert looks quite dumbfounded. 
Goes and drinks more soda. 

Robert. 
'Ave you any wot f 

Gliserinski, 
Say : " Haf you any cocoanuts ? " 

Robert. 
But I don't want a cocoanut. 

Gliserinski. 
Ah, but I do — one cocoanut ! 

Robert. 
Oh ! [^Reflectively.'] Feeling 'ungry, I sup- 
pose? 

Gliserinski. 
For 2is cocoanut — yes ! 

Robert. 

Couldn't you get your friends to throw one 
down to you ? 



THE CRIMSON COCOA NUT 3 1 

Gliseeinski. 
Ah, but zis is a special cocoanut. She will 
tell you all. It is for the cause. Liberty! 
Freedom ! Down with all ze tyrants ! {Goes 
up.^ Farewell, at present ! I thank you von 
tousand times — [shakes both hands'] my brozzer ! 

[Exit excitedly^ c. 

Egbert. 
'Ere, 'old on, ole man ! I'm not your brother. 
I don't live on cocoanuts. The idea ! [Goes to 
tube.'] Cook, haf you got any cocoanuts? 
[Laughs.'] Eh ? What 'ave you dropped this 
time ? The soup tureen ? Never mind ! Per- 
haps the governor won't notice. I don't know 
where he is. He's bin out all day. There's 

such a funny little cove just [Enter 

Madame Gliserin'SKI, c. She is handsome 
and fierce-looking, and carries a bandbox. She 
crosses e., and taps KoBERT on the shoulder. 
lie turns.] Oh, lor ! Another of 'em. [She 
gives him the sign. He gives the countersign. 
Business.] Beg your pardon, miss, but I 'ave 
a message for you. 'Ave you got any cocoa- 
nuts? 

Mme. Gliserittski. 

Ha ! [Looks aroimd.] Sh ! [Takes him, by 
the wrist and leads him down L.] I haf it here. 

[Shows bandbox. 



32 THE CRIMSON COCO A NUT 

KOBEET. 

It must be a big one. 

Mme. Gliseeinski. 
IsTo, but it has to be carefully packed, or else 
— whoof ! 

EOBEET. 

[Aside,'] She's worse than the other one. 
[Aloud.] Won't you sit down, miss ? You'll 
feel better in a minute. 'Ave a milk-and-soda ? 

Mme. Gliseeinski. 
[Tragically.] I cannot rest until the deed is 
done. Look ! [ Unfastens handhox.] You see 
zat ? [Produces a cocoanut. 

EOBEET. 

I do. I suppose you got it on Bank 'Oliday. 
You're one of the lucky ones. 

Mme. Gliseeinski. 

[Impressively.] Yat is dat ? 

EOBEET. 

"Well, I should say it was a cocoanut. 

Mme. Gliseeinski. 
l^o, no. It is imitation. Yat you call — arti- 
ficial ! 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 33 

Egbert. 
Oh, I see — made in Germany! But I sup- 
pose you can eat it ? 

Mme. Gliseeinski. 
Eat ? ]^o, no. [Impressively.'] It is a bomb ! 

EOBEET. 

[Smiling indulgently.'] Indeed? You sur- 
prise me. [Aside.] Balmy ! 

Mme. Gliseei]^ski. 

You see zat small blue mark there ? 

[PoiMts. 

Egbert. 

Yes. 

Mme. GLiSEEiisrsKi. 
Zat is ze trigger. If you press that you set 
the clockwork in motion. It goes tick, tick, 
tick, inside; and in ten minutes exactly it 
goes whoof ! bang ! and where are you ? 

[Puts coGoanut hack in hox, 

Egbert. 

That would depend on the life I'd led, miss. 
But I'm to give this to the gentleman when he 
comes back, am I ? [Takes hox. 



y 



34 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

Mme. Gliseeinski. 
Yes. But dere is one ting more. The com- 
position of zis bomb is a secret. But, when the 
machinery is set in motion, and the chemicals 
inside work out toward ze surface, ze cocoanut 
begins to turn a different color — pink ; and 
joost before the explosion it is bright crimson ! 
So if you should elfer see it like dat, you will 
run away quick ! 

Egbert. 
I'll make a point of it, miss. 

Mme. Gliseeinski. 
Now I go to seek my husband. I may do so 
now, for they will find nothing in my posses- 
sion if I am arrested. Meanwhile, you will 
keep zis safe. Farewell ! You may kiss my 
'and. [BoBEET tctkes her hand^ and after 
hriefly inspectmg it^ shakes it] Farewell, my 
brother ! [Mcit, c. 

EOBEET. 

Mce lot o' new relations I'm makin'. [J^e- 
garding hox.] Well, what am I to do with 
this, I wonder. I suppose the other loony will 
be back here in a minute. I wonder if he'll 
think it's a bomb too. [Laitghs rather tnoiirn- 
ftdlyJ] Very amusin' ! Oh, dear, I 'aven't 'ad 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 35 

a 'earty laugh since Cook accepted me. I must 
tell 'er about this. {Goes E.] 

{Enter Pinchee and J^ancy, c. 

PlJN^CHEE. 

Hallo, waiter ! Here we are again. What's 
amusing you ? And what's this ? 

[Slaps hox with his stick. 

EOBEET. 

You've missed a treat, sir. I've just 'ad a 
visit from a pore lady what's weak in the 'ead 
— jackdaws in the clock-tower ! \Tajps fore- 
head.~\ She gave me this box to keep for a 
friend of hers. I've seen what's inside. What 
do you think it is ? 

JSTancy. 
A new hat. 

KOBEET. 

No, miss. You'd never guess. A cocoanut. 

Both. 
A cocoanut ? 

EoBEET. 

Yes. And the ridiculous part of it is that 
the poor creature thinks it is a homh ! 

\La%ighs mournfully and slaps hox. 



36 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

Both. 
A bomb ? [PiNCHER gets agitated. 

Egbert. 

Yes. She 'ad it all cut and dried, I assure 
you. If you pressed a certain mark at one 
end, the machinery would begin to tick; and 
in ten minutes the whole thing would blow to 
smithereens. {Laughs gently.'] Yery humor- 
ous ! [Dro^s box.] Woa, Emma ! 

PiNCHER. 

Here, for goodness' sake be careful ! It may 
be a bomb after all. 

Egbert. 
Oh, dear no, sir. The poor lady was very 
bad. She 'ad another cock-and-bull story about 
it. Said that when the machinery inside started 
to tick the cocoanut would turn pink, and just 
before explodin' it would be bright crimson. 

Nancy. 
How ridiculous ! 

Egbert. 
Yes, isn't it, miss ? Oh, I 'ad a 'earty laugh, 
I assure you. [To Pii^cher, ivho is hneelmg 
on the floor listening to the hox.] What's the 
matter, sir ? 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 37 

PlNCHER. 
I say, can you liear anything ? 

Egbert. 

{Kneeling too.] Yes, sir ; it seems to me as 
if I could 'ear a kind of a tickin'' noise, sir. 

Nancy. 

[lending down and listening/ screams.'] 
Oh ! it's started ! 

\_All regard each other with consternation. 

PiNCHER. 

Let's look at it. 

{They open the hox hastily^ and take 
out the cocoanut. It is quite jpinlc. 
Tableau. 

Egbert. 
{Handing the cocoanut.] Here you are, sir. 

PllS^CHER. 

No, no, it's yours. 

NA:N'cy. 
{Getting up and running L.] It will explode 
in a minute. Throw it away ! 

Pll^CHER. 

{Starting up.] No, don't ! It will blow up 
if you do. Come along, Nancy. Under the 



38 THE CRIMSON COCOA NUT 

table — quick ! These things always explode 
upward. It's our only chance. 

[PiNCHER and JS^ANCY dive under the 
table L. c. 

Egbert. 

\Who has gently placed the cocoamct on a 
wine-glass on table r. c, listening^ quite calmly.'] 
It's still ticking, sir. 'Ow would it be if I 
dropped it in a bucket of water ? 

PiNCHER. 

{Putting his head out from under cloth.'] 
Eight. But hurry up ! 

Nancy. 
[Sci'eaQning.] Eun ! 

Egbert. 

[Going deliberately to tube.] Cook, send up 
a bucket of water, will you ? We've got a 
teetotaller just come in. What ? Too 'eavy ? 
Eight — I'll come down for it. [To Pincher.] 
I'll be back in a minute, sir. [Exit, R. 

PiNCHER. 

Here, I say, take it with you ! It's no good ; 
he's gone. 

[Patcse. PiNCHER and Nancy peep 
from %inder table. 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 39 

E"A]SrCY. 

I wish he'd hurry up. 

PiNCHEE. 

Don't be alarmed. If he started the ma- 
chinery that time he dropped the box, there are 
still three and a half minutes to go before the 
thing blows up. 

{Enter Mr. Jabstick, c, with new hat. 

Mr. Jabstick. 

[ Waving his hat.'\ I've got one, Nancy, I've 
got one, I've got one ! Five and nine ! Now 
let's be off home. Hallo ! Where is every- 
body ? [Comes down and rings hell on table 
R. c] Waiter, waiter, waiter ! [Sees cocoanut.'] 
Hallo, what on earth's this? [Inspects it 
through glasses, etc.] 1 say, waiter 

PiNCHER. 

[Putting his head out.] I beg your pardon, 
sir, but are you bomb-proof ? 

Mr. Jabstick. 
What do you mean — bomb-proof ? And 
what on earth are you doing 

Nancy. 
Father, that's a homh ! 



40 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

PiNCHER. 

And it's timed to explode in \looks at watcK\ 
a minute and a quarter ! 

[Me. Jabstick gives a wild yell^ omd 
diodes under sofa L. Enter E-obert, 
with bucket, R. 

Egbert. 
'Ere we are, sir. Anything 'appened? 
\Loohs round.'] ISTo. It's got a bit redder, I 
think, sir. 

Mr. Jabstick, ISTancy and Pincher. 
[Putting heads out, screaming. ] Hurry uj) ! 

Egbert. 
Yessir ! {Puts cocoanut in hucket. There is 
some fizzing and all is quiet.] There, it's 
dead now. We shall 'ave bomb glace on the 
menu to-morrow, I can see. Excuse me. 

\_Puts bucket into lift, then talks down 
tube with back turned. l^ANCY and 
PiNCHER emerge, and help Mr. Jab- 
^TiGY^from under sofa, and brush him 
down, etc. 

Mr. Jabstick. 
IN'ow, what's all this about, eh ? I^o non- 
sense, no nonsense, no nonsense ! What is it ? 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 41 

PiNCHER. 
\To Nancy.] Here, you explain. I have 
too much to do. [JSTancy takes Mr. Jabstick 
wp stage. Crosses R. to Egbert.] Now, you 
say these people are coming back ? 

Egbert. 
[Putting down tube.] One of 'em for certain 
— ^probably both, sir. 

PllS^CHER. 

When ? 

Egbert. 
Immediately, sir. 

Pll^CHER. 

Then I have no time to lose. I must run and 
get the police. If we catch them it will be 
worth a thousand pounds to you and me. 

Egbert. 
A thousand pounds ? 

Puncher. 

Yes. That is the reward for their arrest and 
the discovery of the bomb. Now if they come 
back here to fetch it, can you keep them till I 
come back with the police ? 



42 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

KOBEET. 

I'll keep them here, sir, if I have to poison 



'em. 



PlNOHER. 

Eight. {Going. 

Egbert. 
But I don't want 'em arrested in here, sir. 
You see, the breakages all go down to me. I'll 
tell you what. Let 'em come in and get the 
bomb, and you and your pals wait outside and 
catch 'em as they come out. 

PlI^CHER. 

But suppose they won't come out ? 

Egbert. 

{Knowingly^ I'll see to that, sir ! 

{Exit PiNCHER. 

Mr. Jabstick. 

Waiter ! 

Egbert. 

Yessir ! 

Mr. Jabstick. 
I want my bill. 

Egbert. 
Certainly, sir. {Produces hill-check and 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 43 

writes ^^ " Chops, two shillings ; greens, four- 
pence ; two glasses o' claret, eightpence " 

Me. Jabstick. 
But there was a fly in one glass 

EOBEET. 

We don't charge for extras, sir. "Bread, 
twopence ; attendance, sixpence ; soda water, 
threepence ; " total, four and seven, sir. 

[Hands hill. 

Mk. Jabstick. 

\After inspecting hill.'] Try again ! 

KOBEET. 

Very good, sir. [Takes hill and counts dishes 
on tahle.'] I'm sure I beg your pardon, sir. 
My mistake ! I thought I'd forgotten some- 
thing. [Piclcs potato dish from off chair and 
writes.] " Potatoes, fourpence." 

Mr Jabstick. 

[Snatching menu.] ISTow I've got you ! 
Thief, ruflian, swindler ! Look ! [Points.] 
Baked potatoes, twopence ! 

KoBEET. 

Yes, sir; but remember you sat on 'em. 
[Points.] Mashed potatoes, fourpence ! 

[Enter NiTEO Gliseeinski and Mme. 
Gliseeinski, c. 



44 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

EOBEET. 

{To Mr. Jabstick.] Sit down a minute, if 
you want to see some fun. 

[Mr. Jabstick sits^ with hack to audi- 
ence^ at table L. c. , Nancy heside him. 
They pretend to eat hread^ etc. 

Gliserinski. 
{To Egbert, in a whisper.'] Ah, my broz- 
zer ! Is all well ? 

Egbert. 
Oh, yes, all's well, thank you ! 

Mme. Gliserinski. 
You 'ave it safe. 

Egbert. 
Quite safe, thank you, mum. 'Opin' you are 
the same. Now sit down and 'ave a bit of 
dinner. \_IIe guides them to the table R. c. They 
sit R. amd L.] I've bin keepin' the Shepherd's 
Pie 'ot for you on purpose. [Slaps table with 
napkin. Brings bread from other table., etc. 
The Gliserinskis gaze round eagerly^ There ! 
'Ave a bit of bread to go on with. {Goes R. to 
tube.] Cook, soup for two ! 

Gliserinski. 
Is all well, do you think ? 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 45 

Mme. Gliserinski. 
Yes, I think so. I wonder where he has 
put it. 

Gliserinski. 
In a safe place, I am sure. The chief said 
he was a most trustworthy fellow. 

Mme. Gliserinski. 
{Rapturously ?\ Ah, Nitro, think of to-mor- 
row ! 

Gliserinski. 

{Fervently ^^ Ah, dear wife, to-morrow ! To- 
morrow the Bank of England will be in 

Robert. 

The soup ! {Puts tureen on table.l 'Ave 
some pepper with it. 

{Gets critet from other table^ sprinMing 
Mr. Jabstick as he does so. Glis- 
ERINSKI serves the soup. 

Gliseriis^ski. 
Waiter, some wine ! 

Egbert. 
Yes, sir. Crimson wine, sir ? 

Gliserinski Ais^D Mme. Gliserinski. 

[Together.] Eh ? 



46 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

Egbert. 
I mean — red wine, sir ? 

Gliserinski. 

Yes. 

[Robert ^o^^7'<5 out two glasses, and takes 
away soup plates. He then goes to the 
door, c, and waves. He brings the 
plates for the next course. 

Robert. 

You'll enjoy the next dish, sir. It's some- 
thing rather out of the way. 

\Ooes L. and brings covered dish. 

Gliserinski. 
[Sipping wine.'] My dear wife, a toast ! 

Mme. Gliserii^ski. 
I think I know it. It is — 

Gliserinski. 
{^Raising glass.] The Crimson Cocoanut ! 

Mme. Gliserinski. 

[^Raising hers.] The Crimson Cocoanut ! 

Robert. 

{Putting down a dish between them and whip- 
ping off the cover.] The Crimson Cocoanut ! 

[The cocoanut is lying on the dish. It 



THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 47 

is quite crimson. The other two stare 
at it for a Tnoinent^ petrified^ and then 
leaj) to their feet. 

Mme. Gliserinski. 
[Shriekhig.'] A-a-a-ah ! 

Gliserinski. 
It's bright red ! Save yourselfs ! 

\Both rush out., c. Crash., and shouting 
outside. Enter Pincher. 

Nancy. 
[Jumpiiig iijp.'] Have you got them ? 

Pii^cher. 
Yes, quite safe. \Sha'kes hands with Nancy 
and Mr. Jabstick. Egbert is at the lift. 
PiNCHER tahes off nose.] And now, Mr. Jab- 
stick, I can afford to come out of my shell. Do 
you know me ? 

Mr. Jabstick. 
Bless my soul — Jack Pincher! What on 
earth, what on earth, what on earth! — oh, I 
see. Mr. Pincher, did you put on that idiotic 
thing in the pursuit of your profession, sir, or 
in the pursuit of my daughter — eh ? 

Pincher. 

Well, sir, perhaps it was a little of both. 
But I shall get five hundred pounds reward out 



48 THE CRIMSON COCOANUT 

of this job. That will do to start housekeeping 
on. Will you give your consent ? 

Yes, daddy, do give your consent ! 

Mr. Jabstick. 

Well, I'll think it over. But I thought you 
said the reward was a thousand pounds. 

PiNCHEK. 

So it is. But five hundred of it must go to 
our friend here. \Sla^s Robert on the hack. 

Robert. 
What— five 'undred ? Me ? Sure ? 

PiNCHER. 

Certain. 

Robert. 
{Picking up newspaper.'] " Immediate pos- 
session — good-will and fixtures — five hundred 
pounds down ! " [Bushes to tube.] Cook ! Are 
you there ? Yes. Got any crockery left ? Put 
it all in the middle of the floor SiTidju7np on it ! 
[Listens.'] That's right ! Go on ! I'll pay for 
it ! Five hundred pounds ! Good old cocoanut ! 

CURTAIN 



A Late Delivery 

A Little Play in Three Episodes 



A Late Delivery 



CHARACTERS 

Bill Aymer. Mr. Grice. 

Tim Rendle. Mrs. Grice. 

Marjorie. 



A Late Delivery 



SCENE. — The dining-room of Aymer's flat. 
There is a doorway in the centre of the back 
wall, with a bookcase at the right and a 
sideboard at the left of it. At the left of the 
stage ^ toward the hack^ is a table with a chair 
on either side of it. There is a fire-place down 
at the right with a sofa just above it, and op- 
posite it, at the extreme left of the stage, 
another table. 

Bill Aymer and Tim Eendle have beeyi 
dining together, and are sitting over their 
wine. Bill is thirty-five or so. He is a 
typical bachelor of the best sort, a kindly man 
of the world, slightly reserved in manner^ 
with a strong sense of humor and its inevita- 
ble accompaniment of slight melancholy. TiM 
is young, not much over twenty-one, overflow- 
ing with the joy of youth^ hopelessly senti- 
mental and impulsive. However, he is most 
elastic in his recovery from the numerous dis- 
asters in which these attributes constantly in- 

51 



52 A LATE DELIVERY 

volve him. He is an entirely charming 
youth^ quite unspoiled by the 'possession of 
more than his fair share of popularity among 
friends of both sexes. 
Bill is wearing a dinner-jacket and black tie ; 
Tim is immaculately attired^ with white tie, 
white waist-coat, etc. Both are smoking; 
Tim a cigarette^ BiLL a pipe. 

Tim. 
[r. of table.} I say, Bill, pretty sound port, 
this — what ? 

Bill. 

[r. of table, without moving.'} Have some 
more. 

Tim. 

I thank you : that was the situation I was en- 
deavoring to lead up to. {Reaching across for 
the decanter, which is at Bill's elbow.'] As you 
are so insistent, I will take just half a spot more 
before I go. [Helps himself.'] Chin, chin, old 
thing ! [Drinhs. Bill grtcnts and continues 
to sit facing the audience, puffing at his pipe. 
Presently Tim puts down his glass, and rises, 
going toward fireplace E. j I will now pull my- 
self together and pass away quietly. 

Bill. 

\_8till without moving.] Needn't go yet. 



A LATE DELIVERY 53 

Tim. 
Despite your frenzied entreaties, old son, I 
must do a bunk. There is wild work before me 
this night. \Standing with his hack to the fire, 
he produces white gloves^ and proceeds to try 
them on.] I say, Bill — ever fallen in love ? 

Bill. 
Occasionally. 

Tim. 

[Interested.'] Aha ! Recently ? 

Bill. 
E^ot of late years. 

Tim. 
You began young, then ? 

Bill. 

The usual age. 

Tim. 

When was that ? 

Bill. 
My first children's party. 

Tim. 
I know. White socks, blue sash — eh ? 

Bill. 
Correct. 



54 A LATE DELIVERY 

Tim. 
But I suppose that affair never came to much ? 

Bill. 
No. She overdid things. 

Tim. 
Who? 

Bill. 
The lady. 

Tim. 
How? 

Bill. 

Trifle at supper. She had to be taken home 
early, and we never met again. 

Tim. 

But, bar rotting, when did your first serious 
attack take place ? 

Bill. 
About your age. 

Tim. 

[Sttrprised.'] Not till then? You must 
have been a bit of a slow goer. 

Bill. 

Think so ? 



A LATE DELIVERY 55 

Tim. 

\^]^ot noticing the sarcasm of this re7na7'lc.'] 
Eather! Why, my lad, supposing I were to 
tell you — — [He is obmously hursting with 
some secret of his own^ hut restrains himself 
with an effort?^ But I want some details of 
your performances. Did you do it well, that 
sort of thing ? 

Bill. 
I used to think so at the time. 

Tim. 

Tell me about your first — er — escape. There 
have been escapes, I presume, or you wouldn't 
now be an old and crusted bachelor. 

Bill. 
{Grimly^ There have been escapes — on 
both sides. [Helps himself to port. 

Tim. 
Don't talk rot of that kind, Bill! [With 
frank admiration.'] Any woman would be 
proud to marry you. Fool if she didn't ! 

Bill. 

Thank you very much for this entirely unso- 
licited testimonial. I catches your eye ! 

[Drinhs. 



56 A LATE DELIVERY 

Tim. 
Well, let us get back to the point. I want 
to hear about STumber One — Number Two, if 
we count the lady who stuck at trifle. 

Bill. 

It occurred at a bicycle picnic, by moonlight. 
The picnic was given by a lady who possessed 
seven daughters, mostly plain. After supper 
the least plain one and I strayed into a church- 
yard close by. There we sat down on a tomb- 
stone. She remarked that she was afraid of 
ghosts. 

Tim. 

[^Pointing an accusing fi7iger.'\ So you took 
her hand ! 

Bill. 

I am not quite sure. I have a kind of idea 
she took mine. Anyhow the junction was 
effected. 

Tim. 
What happened next ? 

Bill. 
A dark shadow rose before us 



Tim. 
The ghost, I presume. 



A LATE DELIVERY $7 

Bill. 
No — worse ! The girl's mother ! 

Tim. 
[Delightedly.'] And what did mother say ? 

Bill. 

She said: "Well, young people, have you 
anything to tell me ? " 

Tim. 

[Droj>ping onto the sofa and fanning him- 
self ; faintly^ Go on, go on ! And what did 
you say ? 

Bill. 
I said : " I think my back tire wants blowing 
up. I'll go and do it now." And I did ! I 
had a very lonely ride home, though. 

Tim. 

{After a pause.] Had anymore experiences. 
Bill? 

Bill. 

JS'one that I care to talk about, thanks. 
[Puts down his pijpe^ gets ujp^ and comes over 
to the fireplace. Looking down on Tim.] And 
now, my son Timothy, get it off your chest ! 

Tim. 

[Staring.] Get what off my chest ? 



58 A LATE DELIVERY 

Bill. 
This great secret of yours. Who is she? 
When do the banns go up — eh ? 

Tim. 

Great Scott ! It must be written all over me 
if you can spot it. Well, I plead guilty. But 
I haven't asked her yet. The fact is, I intend 
to do the big thing this very night. 

\Q-ets ujp and walks about. 

Bill. 

To-night? {Looks at his watch.'] Rather 
late, isn't it? Are you going to apply per- 
sonally, or by letter ? 

Tim. 

Write f My sainted aunt, write ! My dear 
old antediluvian William, do you think I could 
go home and sit down and write to her on such 
a subject as that f Write ^ with a fountain pen, 
on Silurian paper at a shilling a packet ? 

Bill. 

\JJal7)ily?\ If it takes you that way, why not 
use cream-laid note and a gold nib ? 

Tim. 

{Angrily 7\ Bah ! 



A LATE DELIVERY 59 

Bill. 
Or a typewriter, with the loud pedal on and 

all the stops out ? 

Tim. 

[ Who is in no mood for this sort of thing. '\ 
Oh, dry up, man, dry up ! Do you think I 
could get all I have to say to her into the 
limits of an ordinary letter ? 

Bill. 
Under the present regulations you can send 
four ounces for a penny. In fact, if you leave 
the ends open 

Tim. 
[Piteously.] Bill, old man, don't pull my 
leg about it ! You don't know what a fellow 
feels like when he is in love. 

[Begins to put on his coat and muffler. 

Bill. 

All right. Sorry ! But seriously, a letter 
has its points. I understand that verbal pro- 
posals are inclined to be incoherent. If you do 
it by post, the lady does know what you are 
driving at, anyhow. I once knew a man who 
went off to propose marriage to the girl of his 
choice in a speech which was at once a model 
of lucidity and passion. 



6o A LATE DELIVERY 

Tim. 
[Shar^ply.l How do you know ? 

Bill 

He tried most of it on me before he started. 
Well, something went wrong with the mech- 
anism. When he departed after the interview, 
he left the lady struggling to decide whether 
she had been invited to make one of a coop- 
erative cruising party to a distant island, not 
specified, or to play the leading part in private 
theatricals. He had mixed his metaphors a 
bit, you see. JSTow if he had written it all 
down in a letter, she would probably have got 
the hang of it after the third reading. No, 
Tim, the post-office may be dull, but it is safe. 

Tim. 

[ Who has been patiently smoking a cigarette.'] 
No post-office for me, my lad ! I am going to 
bring it off by means of a personal interview. 
I am going to let her have it hot and strong ! 
I am going to carry her off her feet ! [/Suddenly 
descending to details.'] The devil of it is, it's so 
difficult to chip in at the right moment. One 
can't very well get to work while shaking 
hands. There must be just a little preliminary 
chit-chat, don't you know. [Angrily.] But 
the conversation goes and settles down to some- 
thing entirely removed from the matter in 



A LATE DELIVERY 6l 

hand ; and before you can get your oar in, the 
next dance strikes up, or somebody interrupts 
you, or else it is time to go home. And there 
you are, once more out in the cold street, kick- 
ing yourself for being backward ! But, my no- 
ble friend, I am going to do it to-night ! \At 
the door.'] Give me five minutes in the Free- 
born's conservatory between two waltzes, and 
[with great emphasis] she has simply got to 
have it ! Good-night ! 

[jExity waving his hat. 

Bill. 

Good-night, Tim. Good luck! 

\^IIe rings the hell. A pause. Enter 
Mes. Geice, l. She is amj elderly 
woman in a hlaok bonnet. 

Mes. Geice. 
'Ave you rang the bell, sir ? 

Bill. 
Yes, Mrs. Grice. Will you clear away, 
please ? I want that table — to write a letter at. 
\_Turns and fills a fresh pipe. 

Mes. Geice. 
Yes, sir. [Going to door l.] Grice ! 

Geice. 
[Outside.] Comin', Emmer ! 



62 A LATE DELIVERY 

\IIe enters^ struggling into his coat. As 
they clear the tahle^ Bill turns and 
surveys them. Finally : 

Bill. 
Mrs. Grice, when you received your hus- 
band's proposal of marriage, was it by letter or 
by word of mouth ? 

Mes. Geice. 

[ Who is quite accustomed to her employer'^ s 
icaysj calmly.'] Was you referrin' to Mr. Grice, 
or to my first 'usband, sir ? 

Geice. 
'Ow should Mr. Aymer know you ''ad a first 



'usband, Emmer ? 



Mes. Geice. 
Knowin' you as 'e does, Grice, Mr. Aymer 
would never dream of regardin' you as m.j first 
choice ! 

Bill. 
Let us say your first husband, Mrs. Grice. 

Mes. Geice. 

\_After consideration.'] Well, sir, 'e did it by 
word of mouth. Leastways, not precisely. 
Partly by deputy, if 3^ou take my meaning, sir. 



A LATE DELIVERY 63 

Bill. 
Not quite. 

Mrs. Geice. 
Well, sir, we'd been walkin' out for some 
time, and it didn't look like ever comin' to any- 
thing. So my brother George, 'e took the mat- 
ter up. \Fairly launched.^ George was a 
brewer's drayman. There was eleven of us al- 
together 

Geice. 
{Tugging at her sleeve.'] E'ot so much of it ! 
Get back to your first ! 

Mes. Geice. 
Well, sir, George told me to tell 'Erbert — 
that was 'is name: Grice's name, as you know, 
bein' Albert 

Geice. 

[Despairingly.] Keep to the point, keep to 
the point ! 

Mes. Geice. 

[Continuing.] George told me to tell 'Er- 
bert that if 'im and me wasn't married inside o' 
four weeks, George would come along and push 
'Erbert's face in for 'im. I told 'Erbert, and we 
was married that day three weeks, sir. That's 



64 A LATE DELIVERY 

what I meant when I said my courtin' was 
done by deputy, sir. 

Bill. 
I see. George was the deputy. 

Mes. Grice. 
[Folding the table-doth with Grice.] Yes, 
sir. 

Bill. 
Grice, when you asked the future Mrs. Grice 
to marry you, how did you go about it ? 

Geice. 
[^Respectfully.'] "Was you referrin' to this 
Mrs. Grice, sir, or to my first wif e ? 

Bill. 

[Besignedly.'] Let us say this Mrs. Grice. 

Geice. 

[Trcmsferring lamp^ decanter, glasses, etc., 
from the sideboard to the table.] I met 'er at 
a birthday party at my late first's married sis- 
ter's, sir. I gave 'er a motter out of a cracker, 
which seemed to me to sum up what I wanted 
to say in a very convenient fashion, sir. 

Bill. 
What was the motto, Grice ? 



A LATE DELIVERY 65 

Grice. 
It said : 

'' If you love me as I love you, 
Well, let's begin to bill and coo ! ^^ 

sir. 

Bill. 
And what did you say to that, Mrs. Grice ? 

Mes. Grice. 
I told him to stop being a silly old man, sir. 

Bill. 
And did he ? 

Mrs. Grice. 

No, sir [with a simper]^ 'e would 'ave me ! 
[Taking up the trayJ] Will there be anything 
further, sir ? 

Bill. 

No, thank you. 

Mrs. Grice. 
Good-night, sir. 

Bill. 

Good-night, Mrs. Grice. 

Grice. 
Good-night, sir. 



66 A LATE DELIVERY 

Bill. 
Good-night, Grice. \_They loth go otit L., 
leaving the lamp on the table^ with decanter, 
glasses, siphon, and cigar-box. Bill lights his 
pipe and pours himself out a drinh, then he 
picks up a leather writing-case and inkstand 
from the bookcase, and places them on the table. 
He draws %ip a chair R. of table, and takes an 
unfinished letter out of the writing-case.'] We 
all have our way of doing things. Timmy's is 
a personal interview in the conservatory at a 
ball. Mr. Grice's is a motto out of a cracker. 
Mrs. Grice's is a big brother. Mine's a letter. 
I'll finish this and go out and post it before I 
retire to bed. \ Takes a sip from his glass and 
squares himself to the task of writing.] She'll 
get it in the morning. 

[Slow curtain, which rises again after a 

few moments. An hour has elapsed. 

Bill is discovered folding up a bulky 

letter. 

Bill. 
I think the occasion calls for sealing-wax. 
{He seals the letter^] Now for a stamp ! \He 
stamps it.] Less than four ounces, I think- — 
but not much ! Now I must go out and post 
it. [Addressing the letter thoughtfully.] My 
friend, I wish I could post myself along with 
you, and witness your reception. I don't know, 
though. Hather a shock for the poor girl to 



A LATE DELIVERY 6/ 

find me lying on her plate at breakfast, with a 
red seal in the small of my back and a postage 
stamp in my left eye ! I wonder how she will 
take it. I wonder ! \^Mu8ing.~] I — wonder ! 
[More cheerfully.'] I wonder how that young 
ass Tim is getting on. I expect he has his 
charmer rounded up into the conservatory by 
this time. I wonder who she is. An ex-flapper 
of some kind, I suppose. I wonder if he has 
carried her off her feet yet ! They are both in 
the clouds together by this time, I fancy. At 
that age it's a simple business. Start the engine, 
join hands, and off you go ! I wonder why 
people in Tim's condition always come and 
badger me with their love affairs. I wonder ! 
I'm doing a lot of wondering to-night. [^Begins 
to whistle absently^ as he ]}uts writing materials 
together?^ What am I whistling? It is the 
tune she used to whistle as she hammered on 
my door when she brought my meals up to me 
that time I was ill. She never whistled any- 
thing else. 1 spoke to her about it at last. 
Fat lot of good that was ! How did it go ? 
Tum-ti-tum-ti-tiddley-um, tum-ti-tum-ti-ti-ti. {He 
whistles it. There is an echo of the same tune 
in the passage outside^ followed hy a rat-tat-tat, 
as the tune is jplayed on a hnocher. Bill starts 
excitedly to his feet, and Mak.joeie appears in 
the doorway. She is in a hall dress, and is 
wearing an evening wrap. She is a very pretty 



68 A LATE DELIVERY 

girl of ahotit twenty^ with rather thoiightful 

eyes. She sjjeahs in a melodious drawl^ ctnd is 
evidently not the sort of yoimg ]^erson who 
wo%ild allow herself to he ^^ carried off her feet^'' 
however greatly she 'might ajjjyjyreciate the efforts 
of the woidd-he carrier,'] Marjorie ! [Mar- 
JORIB smiles disarriiingly ^ and ])erforms an 
obeisance^ a la Geisha.~\ What on earth are 
you doing here ? 

Marjorie. 
[ With a serajMc smile.'] I came to see you, 
Bill dear. 

Bill. 

[ With attem])ted sternness.] Marjorie, this is 
most reprehensible. 

Marjorie. 

Yes, isn't it? May I sit down? The door 
of your flat was on the jar. Bill. Your last 
visitor must have left it open. Very careless ! 
[J^y this time she has taken off her wrap and 
sat down on the sofa. She now looks round, 
chattering all the time.] What snug rooms you 
have. But very untidy. Look at those books — 
all anyhow. And your mantelpiece. Perfectly 
tragic ! \_Ilising^ and running her finger along 
the edge.] Look ! Filthy ! 

{Holds up her finger. The tip of her 
glove is all hlach. 



A LATE DELIVERY 69 

Bill. 

l^Di^ily.'] I apologize. You have dropped in 
just before dusting day. Yery unfortunate ! 

Makjorie. 

[Still inspecting the inantelpiece.'] And these 
pipes ! You ought to put them out of sight, 
you know, really ! Then you could have a row 
of photographs of fair ladies instead. 

Bill. 
Afraid I don't know any. 

Marjorie. 
[Freezingly.'] /^^-deed ! I have an idea that 
I presented you with my portrait once. 

Bill. 

I apologize again. I spoke in haste. Here 
is yours. [Points to a photo on small table L. 

Marjorie. 
H'm ! On a side-table ! I suppose this space 
in the middle of the mantelpiece is reserved. 

Bill. 
Reserved — what for ? 

Marjorie. 
Whose photograph does a man eventually 
plant in the middle of his mantelpiece ? Hasn't 
she come aloug yet ? You must hustle a bit, 



70 A LATE DELIVERY 

Bill. You are getting on, you know. Don't 

get left on the shelf ! 

\_Sits down again on the sofa. Bill 
crosses R. and stands with his hack to 
the fire^ looking down on her. 

Bill. 
Marjorie, would it be presumptuous on my 
part to enquire why you have honored me with 
a visit at this time of night ? 

Marjoeie. 
Bill, I want to tell you something, and I 
want to ask your advice. In the first place, 
I have just had a proposal. 

Bill. 

\_After an almost hnjpercejptible start.^ Where ? 
When ? 

Marjorie. 
{Readily. \ On the top flight of stairs at the 
Freeborn's dance, about three-quarters of an 
hour ago. 

Bill. 

[Involuntarily.'] Not in the conservatory ? 

Marjorie. 
[Sttrprised.'] Conservatory ? No. Why ? 

Bill. 
\Lamely?\ I — I had a kind of notion that 



A LATE DELIVERY 7 1 

these events always came off in the conserva- 
tory. You know — Chinese lanterns, azaleas in 
tubs, distant music, a drip of water down your 
neck ! Well, w^as it a good proposal ? 

Maejorie. 
Fair to middling, I should say. 

Bill. 
Didn't — didn't he carry you off your feet ? 

Marjoeie. 

No. I maintained my equilibrium. It's a 
way I have. But you mustn't think I didn't 
enjoy the proposal. It was lovely. Still, I 
dare say I am not very critical, you know, my 
experience being limited. It was the first one 
I ever had. 

Bill. 
And probably the first he ever attempted. 

Maejoeie. 
Who? 

Bill. 
Timmy. 

Maejoeie. 
{Quite calmly?^ How very upsetting of you 
to guess, Bill. I wanted it to be a surprise. 
How did you know ? 



J 2 A LATE DELIVERY 

Bill. 

Master Tim was in here an hour or two ago, 
bound for the Freeborn's dance, and obviously 
on the war-path. But I never dreamt you were 
the objective. So that is what you came to tell 
me — eh ? {Crosses to tahle. 

Marjorie. 

]^ot altogether. Bill — [she rises and stands 
hefore him with folded hands / he sits on the 
corner of the tahle'] it's a big thing for a girl to 
have to decide on a plunge like this — the big- 
gest thing she ever does. If she has no mother, 
and no brothers and sisters, and — and a father 
like my father — it becomes a bigger thing than 
ever. It rather — it rather frightens her at 
times. Her only course, then, is to pick out the 
whitest man she knows, and ask him to advise 
her. [Sedately.'] That's why I am here. 

Bill. 
Why not ask a woman to advise you ? 

Marjorie. 
Because women are such born match-makers ! 
If you go to a woman and confide to her that 
you are wobbling on the brink of matrimony, 
she won't advise you. In nine cases out of ten 
she just slips behind you and pushes you in ! 
JS^o, I must have a man. Bill, and I have picked 
you, first of all, because you are the best sort I 



A LATE DELIVERY 73 

know, and secondly because you have seen a 
good deal of life, and thirdly because you are 
absolutely unbiased. Now, Bill [turns and 
walks slowly E. to the fir e^ then turns and faces 
him again], you know me, and you know Tim. 
Shall I marry him ? [^A long j)cticse. 

Bill. 

May I ask you a few old-fashioned and ob- 
vious questions ? Do you — care for him ? 

Makjorie. 

[Standing with her hack to him, fingering the 
7)iantel-horder.'\ Well, he's rather a dear, you 
know. . . . And I aon fond of him. . . . 
But I don't quite know how much of it is the 
real thing and how much is gratitude. \IIesita- 
tingly.'] I think you know. Bill, that I have a 
pretty stiff time of it at home, sometimes 

Bill. 

[ With sudden vehemence.'] Yes, I do know ! 
That is — go on ! 

Marjorie. 

I only got to the dance to-night by playing 
truant. I shall pay for it to-morrow, I fancy. 
Dad doesn't allow me many friends, so I don't 
get much society. You, for instance, have 
given up coming near us. 



74 ^ LATE DELIVERY 

Bill. 

Marjorie, you know I had no other alterna- 
tive. Two years ago I came to spend a few 
days at your house. The evening I arrived I 
was taken ill with what turned out to be typhoid 
fever, and I couldn't be moved for weeks. I 
left as soon as the doctor would let me, but not 
before your papa had practically accused me of 
selecting his house to come and have a cheap 
attack of typhoid in. 

Maejoeie. 

I know. I apologize. But you know what 
Dad is. 

Bill. 
Your parent furthermore added 

Maejoeie. 

Yes. I know what he added. I overheard 
him. He shouts, rather, when he is making a 
point. And of course you couldn't answer back, 
poor thing ! {In a more cheerful tone.'] The 
fact is, the old gentleman took a sort of dislike 
to you the first time he found me washing your 
face. After all, somebody had to do it. Still, 
the long and short of it is, Bill, that you don't 
come about the house any more. Tim does, 
though. Apparently Dad regards him as harm- 
less. Tim has been very kind to me, and, as I 
say, I am grateful. 



A LATE DELIVERY 75 

Bill. 
And you are thinking of marrying him ? 

Marjorie. 
[Frankly.'] Yes, I am. The next question, 
please ! You said " a few." 

Bill. 
You are sure he loves you ? 

Marjorie. 
Well, from the way he went on on the top 
step, I should call him a pretty severe case. 

Bill. 
Where is he now ? 

Marjorie. 
I left him at the ball. He was particularly 
anxious to have a farewell waltz with a certain 
girl. You see, he is by way of burning his 
boats to-night. 

Bill. 

Who is the lady ? 

Marjorie. 

Hilda Smithson. He told me all about her. 

She is one of the only other girls he ever loved. 

I gather that she is practically the pick of the 

" also rans." I told him he could have half an 



76 A LATE DELIVERY 

hour to close his account with her, and then he 
could come along here and call for me. ISTow, 
Bill, sliall I ? 

Bill. 

He has plenty of money, I know. ... I 
want to ask one more question, Marjorie. I feel 
infernally grandfatherly, but after all, thei'e is 
no going back on these things, once they are 
done. [HesitcotinglyJ] Are you — are you quite 
sure there is nobody else ? 

Marjoeie. 
How can there be anybody else ? You and 
Tim are the only two men I know — really well, 
that is. [Corning close7\'] I — I'll go by your 
advice. Bill. Be a big brother for a minute, 
and tell me what to do. Shall I marry him ? 
May I marry him ? I'm rather lonely, some- 
times. 

[A silence. They are standing face to 
face. 

Bill. 

[Suddenly .~\ Yes — marry him ! And I'll 
come and be best man. [BrisMy.'] Now if 
you will sit down and warm your toes at the 
lire for a few minutes I will go out and get 
you a cab. There's a thick fog, and I doubt if 
Master Timothy will ever find his way here. I 
suppose I can't offer you a whiskey and soda ? 



A LATE DELIVERY 77 

Makjorie. 

[Sitting on the sofa.'] I'll take some soda- 
water, please. [Bill draws sovie from the 
siphon and hounds it to he?\] You are a good 
sort, Bill. You ought to marry some day. You 
are wasted at present. And when you pick 
your wife, let me see her first, and I'll take 
care you aren't imposed on. 

Bill. 

{Putting on coat.] Hansom or fourwheeler — 
presuming I can get either ? 

Marjoeie. 
I'm not particular. You had better be quick 
though, because I am going to explore your 
room and examine all your treasures. [But 
Bill has hitrried otct hy this time. Presently 
Mar J OKIE gets ttj? and hegins a tour of the 
room.] I don't think much of Bill's taste in 
art \examining ])hotogra])hs\ or his friends ! 
{Coming to hoohcase.] But he has some nice 
books. {Crosses to tahle and puts down empty 
glass.] Hallo, he has forgotten to post a letter. 

I wonder if it's imp {Jler eye suddenly 

falls upon the name and address on the enve- 
lope. She p)ichs it tip) and refects.] "Hard 
Case Number One Hundred and something. 
A, a young spinster, casually visiting the dwell- 
ing of B, a bachelor acquaintance, finds u]3on 



78 A LATE DELIVERY 

the table a letter in B's handwriting addressed 
to herself and stamped for post. What should 
A do ? Answer adjudged correct : — Leave the 
letter alone and receive it at breakfast-time 
next morning. Answer adjudged incorrect : — 
Open the letter and read it at once." \8mil- 
viig ingenuously?^ A opens the letter at once ! 
{Does so^ I will salve my conscience by pick- 
ing off the stamp and saving him a penny. 
{Does so.'\ I'm afraid I never did have the 
instincts of a real lady. [Unfolds the letter; 
it consists of several sheets /\ What a screed ! 

What can [Glances hastily at the end.] 

Oh ! . . . Oh ! . . . [She sits down at 
the table in the light of the lartvp and reads the 
letter through. SoDietimes she reads in silence / 
sonhetimes she reads passages aloud^ with com- 
ments of her own^ as follows^ " This is the 
letter of a man who suffers from an impediment 
in his speech." (I've never noticed it !) " The 
afl9.iction is not chronic, bat recurs whenever the 
sufferer finds himself called upon to talk about 
things that really matter. Hence pen and ink ! 
I have tried the other w?oy twice." (Has he ? 
It's the first Pve heard of it.) " On the first 
occasion I was incoherent, on the second speech- 
less. Once was in a hansom, taking you home 
from tea at Rumpelmayer's. We had met by 
accident at the Queen's Hall. At least, you 
thought it was by accident. The second time 



A LATE DELIVERY 79 

was when I came to your house one afternoon 
a few months ago, to call. You had been cry- 
ing. I suppose your father had been unkind to 
you again. Kot that you showed it, but I hap- 
pened to sit down in the same armchair with 
your handkerchief, which was soaking. [Her 
voice trembles between tears and laughter. '\ If 
necessary, I can produce the handkerchief as 
evidence." Dear Bill ! . . . " But I must 
tell you how it all began. It was a long time 
ago." I wonder why men always want to go 
back to the year One when they propose. Tim 
did it too. I suppose they want to show what 
a respectable and long-lived affection it has 
always been. "Established 1843" — that sort 
of thing. {Reads on in silence / then.'] . , . 
" Do you remember the days when I lay ill in 
your house in the country ? " (I do, my boy ! 
Dad thought you were doing it on purpose, 
although I kept on explaining that typhoid 
fever could not be simulated.) ..." And 
the little tune you used to whistle when you 
rattled on my door at meal -times." (Yes, I 
remember that too. I did it to drown Dad, 
enquiring after your health from the foot of the 
staircase !) . . . [Turns over.] But what 
is this ? . . . Oh, Bill, this is very good ! 
. . . Bill, you're a man ! [She reads on and 
on.] . . . Oh, Bill dear, I never knew all 
this, I never knew ! [She finishes the letter, 



80 A LATE DELIVERY 

folds it uj? very slowly and gently^ and then 
sits leaning forvjard with her elbows on the 
tahle^ gazhig straight before her.'\ 

[Slow curtaifi, which rises again after 
one minute^ denoting a lajjse of a quar- 
ter of an hour. Marjokie is busily 
vjriting at the jplace recently occtipied 
by Bill for the same purjpose. Pres- 
ently Tim ajppears in the doorway. He 
stands gazing affectionately oii Mar- 
J0RIe/(9/' a moment^ then qitietly re- 
moves his overcoat and muffler. He is 
stealing across the room iii the direc- 
tion of her chair. 

Marjorie. 

[ Without looking up.'] That you, Timmy ? 

Tim. 

[Reaching her chair and putting his hands on 
the back.'] Yes — dearest ! 

Marjorie. 
Don't bother me at present. I'm rather busy. 
Idiots page and turns it over. 

Tim. 

[Rather taken aback.] But, darling, I 

Marjorie. 
Trot along to the mantelpiece and help your- 
self to a cigarette, there's a good child. 



A LATE DELIVERY 8 1 

Tim. 

\_In a slightly injtired tone.] Marjorie, I don't 
think that is quite the way for a girl to address 
her Jicmce. 

Maejorie. 
Her what ? 

Tim. 
Her — dash it all, Marjorie, don't be a little 
pig! Here I come hareing along from the 
dance in search of you, as full of beans as a — as 
a — as a 

Marjorie. 

[Helpftdl]/.] Bean-pod ? 

Tim. 

[Shouting.'] JSTo ! Yes ! All right — bean- 
pod if you like ! Well, here I come, and you 
greet me as if I were — your solicitor ! 

Marjorie. 

[Gently.] I should never dream of address- 
ing my solicitor as " Timmy," Timmy. 

Tim. 
Well, vou know what I mean. Just think — 
we have both been passing through the greatest 
crisis of our lives — the most thrilling moment 
of our joint existence 



82 A LATE DELIVERY 

Ma RJ OKIE. 

\_In simjyle wonder. '\ Have we ? I had no 

idea. 

Tim. 

[A^igrily striding aboict the roo7n.'] Marjorie, 
what does all this mean ? Let us understand 
one another clearly ! 

Marjoeie. 

\Pxitting the letter into an envelope and de- 
claiming theatrically.'] "" Tush ! " cried the 
Marquis, pacing the floor of the bijou boudoir 
like a caged lion. [Tim utters an exclamation^ 
whirls round upon his heel^ and drops on to the 
sofa.'] Then, with a superb ejaculation of con- 
tempt, he turned upon his heel and flung him- 
self into the depths of an abysmal divan 

[Breaking off.] Careful, Timmy ! I heard the 
sofa crack. 

Tim. 

\_In an extremely indignant voice.] Marjorie, 
I suppose you know you are breaking my heart. 
Also destroying my faith in women. Mere de- 
tails, of course, but possibly they may interest 
you! 

Marjorie. 
Have I ? [ With a sudden change of numiier.l 



A LATE DELIVERY 83 

I'm sorry — there ! Tim, I — I have been think- 
ing things over 

[Addresses the envelope and hlots it, 

Tim. 

And you have come to the conclusion you 
don't love me. That's a woman all over. An 
hour and a half has done the trick in your 
case \_Looking at his watch indignantly. 

Maejorie. 

[Rising, leaving the letter on the tahle.'] I 
wasn't going to say anything of the kind, 
Tim, dear. \Tiwsofteois instantly. Marjorie 
comes R. and stands facing him^ fingering his 
coat. Then^ gently ?[ Tim, do you think a man 
like you ought to marry at your age ? What 
lovely waist-coat buttons ! 

Tim. 

Don't treat me like a child, please. You 
think I am too young ? 

Marjorie. 
{Deliherately?^ I wasn't thinking of you at 
the moment. 

Tim. 

{Cross agai7i.] Oh — yourself ! I see. 



84 A LATE DELIVERY 

Marjokie. 

[Patiently.'] ■ No : something bigger. I was 
thinking — well, of the nation at large. 

Tim. 

[Entirely puzzled^ hut not displeased.'] Mar- 
jorie, what are you talking about ? 

Maejokie. 

Well, it's this way. Many a man of promise 
has spoiled his career by marrying too young. 
You are a man of promise, Tim. 

Tim. 

[Muck inflated.] Oh, rot ! 

Maejoeie. 

If you married now j^ou would settle down 
as a contented domesticated husband, when all 
the time you ought to be working and lighting 
and becoming famous 

Tim. 

[Tahing fire.] By Jove ! 

Maejoeie. 

and growing great and glorious ! Would 

you sacrifice all that, Tim ? 

Tim. 
But 3^ou would help me, Marjorie. You 
wouldn't be in the way a bit, really ! 



A LATE DELIVERY 85 

Makjorie. 

[Gratefully.'] You do say kind things tome, 
Tim. But it would never do, really. Even a 
man of your great talents would find it hard to 
get on without friends and influence ; and yqvj 
young married men have few friends and less 
influence, Tim. They are back numbers. No- 
body w^ants them. It's the rising young bach- 
elors who go everywhere, and are able to com- 
mand interest and popularity and fame. I 
should be a dreadful drag. [As Tim draws in 
his hreath to riialce some gallant interjection.] 
How beautifully you tie white ties, Tim ! No, 
I think you must establish yourself in the pub- 
lic eye before you settle down. Don't you 
agree ? [ Turns and walks slowly L. 

Tim. 

[Wandering ?\ There's a good deal in what 
you say, Marjorie. Look here ! [ With sudden 
inspiration?^ Supposing we got married in five 
years' time ? 

Marjorie. 

It would be a very difficult five years for you, 
Tim. Imagine yourself going about this big 
world, meeting all sorts of famous and influen- 
tial people, and growing more and more famous 
and influential yourself. Girls would be falling 
in love with you 



86 A LATE DELIVERY 

Tim. 
[Much confused.'] Oh, I say 

Makjorie. 

and all the time you would be unable 

to give them any encouragement, because you 
felt bound to come at the end of five vears 
and marry Tne — and take in Dad as a parlor- 
boarder ! 

Tim. 

[Aghast.'] Your father ! D-do you think he 
would want to come and live with us ? 

Marjorie. 

[Serenely.] It's possible. You never know. 
[Tiirns and walks u^ stage. 

Tim. 

[Desjyerately.] I must think! [He thinhs^ 
furiously. Marjorie occupies herself in tidy- 
ing the writing materials on the table. Pres- 
ently?^ Marjorie, you have a sense of proportion 
quite unusual in your sex. You are the most 
far-sighted woman I have ever known. 

Marjorie. 
I believe I am. 

Tim. 

And the most unselfish. 



A LATE DELIVERY 87 

Marjokie. 
I'm not so sure of that. 

Tim. 

"What you say about my making a career, 
and all that — well, there's something in it, you 
know, there's something in it ! [ With sudden 
enthusiasm.'] Gad, I rather see myself in Par- 
liament, letting those old chaps have it in the 
neck — what ? And I see that you are perfectly 
right about my not tying myself down by an 
early marriage. I consider it a jolly sporting 
and unselfish view to take. Still, I mustn't 
allow you to suffer. [^Talces her hands.] Look 
here, Marjorie, if I come to you in five years, 
and ask you to marry me, will you ? 

Marjorie. 
Yes 

Tim. 
Cheers ! 

Marjorie. 
On one condition. 

Tim. 
And that is 

Marjorie. 
That neither of us has married any one else 
in the meantime. 



S8 A LATE DELIVERY 

Tim. 

You can set your mind at rest on that point, 

Marjorie. I'll stick to 3^00. Then it's a deal ? 

[Makjokie nods.] I say, Marjorie, I should — 

like to kiss you ! \_Drawing her closer. 

Marjorie. 

[Calmly.'] I think we said five years, not 
five seconds. [Slips away from Imn and goes L.] 
JSTow, Tim, you trot off to your ball again ; it's 
quite early. Bill will take me home ; he has 
gone to get a cab for me now. You go and 
perform a similar service for Hilda Smithson. 

Tim. 

{Scornfully?)^ Oh, I say — come ! Hilda 
Smithson ! 

Marjorie. 

Why not? She is a very nice, pretty girl, 
and her father is a most influential man. Re- 
member you have got to spend the next five 
years getting to know influential people. Start 
on Hilda. If you hurry up you may be able to 
catch her for the last extra. 

Tim. 
You are right, Marjorie. You are always 
right. [Begins to jput on his coai and muffler.] 
I believe you know what is best for me better 
than I do myself. 



A LATE DELIVERY 89 

Marjorie. 
I shouldn't be surprised. Good-night, Timmy. 

Tim. 
{Looking at his watGhJ] Good-night, Mar- 
jorie. [JExit^ hastily. 

Marjorie. 
[Alone.'] I give that child six months ! 

[Bill and Tim are heard talking and 
enter together. 

Bill. 
Just as well I caught you, Tim. I can't find 
a cab high or low, but of course you will take 
Marjorie home in yours. 

Marjorie. 
Tim is going back to the ball, Bill. He has 
one or two duty dances to work off. But I'll 
share his cab as far as the Freeborns' and then 
go on home in it. I shall be quite safe. 

Tim. 

Hurry up, then, Marjorie. I should look 
rather a mug if I got there to find the place 
shut — what ? Good-night, Bill, old son ! 

{He goes oid^ putting on his white gloves. 

Bill. 
[Hesitatingly.'] Shall I come too, and act 



90 A LATE DELIVERY 

as subsequent escort ; or should I find myself 
a member of the ancient French family of 
De Trop ? 

Marjoeie. 
{Putting on her cloak and wrap with his 
helpJ] You would never be de trop anywhere, 
Bill. But I am not going to drag you to South 
Kensington to-night. 

Bill. 
[Shaking hands.'] Have you given him his 
answer ? 

Maejorte. 
Yes. 

Bill. 

Can I guess it ? 

Maejoeie. 

I don't know. You might. It's an even 
chance, isn't it? 

Tim. 

[Loudly^ from the front door.] Marjorie ! 

Marjoeie. 
[Calling.] Coming, Tim ! 

Bill. 
Tim seems rather to have taken command of 
things, hasn't he ? 



A LATE DELIVERY 91 

Marjorie. 
Think so ? He's only in a hurry, poor lamb. 
But I must fly. It's as well you came in when 
you did. [Picking up fan^ gloves^ etc.] Two 
minutes later and you w^ould have found me 
gone. [^Deliherately.'] You seem to have a 
habit of running things rather line, Bill. 

Bill. 
Have I ? How ? 

Tim. 

[^Outside.'] Mar-jor-ie ! 

Marjorie. 
Heavens ! Good-night, Bill ! 

Bill. 
Good-night, Marjorie. 

Marjorie. 

[Turning in the doorway.'] Good-night — big 
brother ! \_She goes out. Bill goes to the door- 
way and watches her down the passage. Then 
he turns and walks rather heavily down L. 
Marjorie suddenly reappears i7i the doorway.'] 
I say. Bill. 

Bill. 

[Turning.] Hallo ! 



92 A LATE DELIVERY 

Mar J OKIE. 

Don't forget to post your letter. Ta-ta ! 

\She vanishes. 

Bill. 

\Lo6king first at the er)i2oty doorway^ then at the 
audience^ then toioard the table ^ Now what the 
devil did she mean by that ? \Advances toward 
the table^ and suddenly sees tha.t the letter there 
is not his.] A-a-ah ! {Snatches tip the letter.'] 
What's this on the back ? " P. S. I have saved 
you a stamp by reading your letter now. P. P. S. 
You will find the stamp on the inkstand." 
[After inspecting the sta'mjy in a dazed fashion 
he opens the letter.] I wanted her never to know 
about this. [He sinhs doion on the chair hy the 
lavip and reads.] . . . " This is the letter 
of a girl without any impediments, either in her 
speech or in her manners. As I have nothing 
to do while you are cab-chasing, I will answer 
your letter now. Please turn over : I can't say 
it on this page. [Turns over.] Bill, old 
man . . ." 

[Hereafter he reads on in rapt silence. His 
eyes open wider as the meaiiing of the 
letter dawns on him. His foot begins to 
beat exultantly^ and he breaks into the 
little tune ^mentioned before. He lifts 
his head and gazes giddily round 
the room. Suddenly a thought strikes 



A LATE DELIVERY 93 

him. He rises a?2C? ^zc/cs Maej OKIE'S 
photograph off the side-table. Holding 
it aloft^ he marches across the room to 
the sound of his oivn tune, and sweeping 
^everything off^ the mantelpiece with one 
movement of his arm, triumphantly 
plants the photograph in the very mid- 
dle, as the curtain falls. 



CURTAIN 



The Missing Card 
A Comedietta in One Act 



The Missing Card 



CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Millington, a widow. 
Sophy, her maid. 
Nicholas Bindle, a solicitor. 
Major Tuckle, retired. 

Time. — The present. 



SYNOPSIS 

Two elderly gentlemen, Mr. Bindle and Major 
Tuckle, arrive almost simultaneously in the 
drawing-room of Mrs. Millington, a young 
widow, each determined to propose to her. 
The lady is not at home, and the two gentle- 
men, on discovering one another's intentions, 
engage in a fierce dispute as to which is to with- 
draw. They finally decide to cut through a 
pack of cards, whoever draws the Queen of 
Hearts having the right to propose first. The 
game is interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Mil- 
lington herself. She welcomes them as old 
friends, and, suspecting nothing, invites them 
to stay to tea. The plot, however, has been 
overheard by Mrs. Millington's maid, Sophy, 
and she takes the first opportunity of revealing 
it to her mistress. Mrs. Millington, more 
amused than angry, quietly removes the Queen 
of Hearts from the pack, and then invites the 
gentlemen to finish their game, whatever it may 
be, before tea. They comply, and their excite- 
ment as the pack diminishes and the Queen does 
not appear is only equaled by their dismay 
when they discover that the card is not in the 
pack at all. Mrs. Millington, who has been 

97 



98 THE MISSING CARD 

watching the struggle with keen relish, now 
coyly expresses a hope that it was not the Queen 
of Hearts they wanted, as she had abstracted it 
from the pack for a special purpose of her own, 
which she will reveal to them, "as you are such 
old friends of mine." The Yicar, she explains, 
has that afternoon asked her to become his 
" Queen of Hearts," and she has decided to ac- 
cept him. She has therefore just dispatched to 
him an envelope containing the card in ques- 
tion, as a token of acquiescence. She invites 
their congratulations. 

Mr. Bindle and the Major, admitting to each 
other that they have been a pair of " old fools," 
take their departure, consoling themselves with 
the reflection that Mrs. Millington "will never 
know " what their errand was that afternoon. 



The Missing Card 



SCENE. — Mes. Millington's drawiny-room, 
about three o^ clock on a summer afternoon. 
At hack, curtained entrance. L. U. E., door to 
conservatory. E. Citable; jj. c, armchair ; 
L., tea-table. R., table^ with card-box. Foot- 
stool under table. 

Enter SoPHY, C, followed by BllSTDLE. He is a 
middle-aged solicitor, with fresh coraplexton 
and gray whiskers. He is immaculately 
dressed and obviously nervous. He puts down 
his hat and umbrella on table R. 

BlNDLE. 

You are sure Mrs. MilliDgton will be in quite 
soon, Sophy ? 

Sophy. 
Yes, sir. She went out to luncheon at the 
vicarage, sir, at half-past one, but she men- 
tioned particularly that she would be home for 
tea. She'll be about a quarter of an hour, 1 
should say. 

99 



lOO 777^ MISSING CARD 

BlNDLE. 

\In a rather deprecating manner?^ Then I — 
ah — suppose there would be no harm in my 
awaiting her return — eh, Sophy ? 

Sophy. 

[Slightly surprised that he should ash per- 
missio7i.] Oh, dear no, sir. Will you please 
to take a seat [presenting chair], and I'll tell 
Mrs. Millington you're here the moment she 
comes in, sir. 

BiNDLE. 

Thank you, Sophy. [Sophy turns to go. He 
suddenly fumbles in his pochet.'] Er — Sophy ! 

Sophy. 

[Turning sharply, surprised at his tone.'] 

Yes, sir ? 

BiNDLE. 

Er — ha — for you, Sophy ! 

[Suddenly hands her half a crown. 

Sophy. 
[Mystified hut grateful.] Thank you, sir ! 
[She goes out, turning at the door to con- 
template BiNDLE, who is feverishly 
talcing off his gloves / and after look- 
ing again at the half-crown, taps her 



THE MISSING CARD lOI 

forehead significantly, L<ift alone, 
BiNDLE sits L. of tahle and fans him- 
self with his handkerchief. 

BiNDLE. 

E'ick, my boy, that last move was a mistake 
— a mistake and an extravagance ! Sophy was 
perfectly friendly from the start. That half- 
crown will merely rouse her suspicions. She'll 
wonder what I'm up to. l^ever mind ! Too 
late now. Dear, dear, I'm feeling very low ! 
[lie takes a small mirror from his ])ocket and 
exarnines his tongue.'] Slightly coated, slightly 
coated ! [Takes out his watch and holds it in his 
left hand^ while he feels hisjpulse with his right.] 
Twenty-three, twenty -four, twenty-five — simply 
racing, simply racing! Talk about the Ltisi- 
tania ! [Produces a phial out of his pocket and 
eats a tabloid.] There, I think that will steady 
things down. [Looks round?\ I do hope nobody 
else will come in and disturb my plans. Now 
I think of it, I drove past that old bore Tuckle 
on the road. I wonder if he was on his way 
here. Surely he couldn't be so crassly wanting 
in tact and — ah — discernment. A quarter of 
an hour, I think Sophy said. A quarter of an 
hour before I advance to the attack ! But I 
must arrange the — ah — field of battle. [Bises, 
and pushes armchair forward a little. Then 
he hidings a small chair and places it hy the 



I02 THE MISSING CARD 

a7'mchair.'\ After all, there is nothing like a 
good rehearsal. [Sits in the small chair and 
lays his hand on the arm of the armchair.'] No, 
that won't do ! [Rises^ talces hach small chair ^ 
and hrings a footstool instead. Then he props 
up a large cushion in the chair to represent 
Mrs. Millii^gton, and goes to table r., where 
he prodicces a small hunch of roses from inside 
his hat a/nd advances toward the door, as if to 
greet the entrance of some one. At the door he 
hows, and offers the flowers to the imaginary 
person.] A small token of — ah — esteem, dear 
lady. [Pause.] I am indeed glad to find that 
roses are your favorite flower. [Pause.] No, 
no, the pleasure is mine ! Will you not be 
seated ? [He hands the imagina^ry lady to the 
armchair with much cereonony / then, after lay- 
ing the roses on the table R. and ha/ding given a 
pull to his Gtcffs and waistcoat, he advances to 
the footstool and kneels laboriously. Then, in 

a deep sepulchral voice.] Er — Gertrude 

No, that won't do. [ On a high throaty note.] 

Er — Gertrude No, that's too high ! [More 

normally.] Er — Gertrude — that's better ! — the 
request which I am about to make to you may 
cause you some — er — surprise, but I trust no — ah 
— apprehension. Er — apprehension. You cannot 
have remained unconscious all these months — 
er— you cannot have remained unconscious all 
these months — um — all these months [Pes- 



THE MISSING CARD 103 

jperately.'] You cannot have remained uncon- 
scious all these months Oh, confound it ! 

[Sits on the floor and produces a legal-looking 
hlue document tied with red tape. Finds the 
place^ and., adjusting his eye-glass^ continues^ 

reading.'] that my feeling toward you is 

no common one. I have long admired you. 
[As he reads Sophy a])jpeaTS c, conducting 
Major Tuckle, a choleric-loohing gentleman., 
with a hrick-red face and white 7}%oustache.'] I 
have long worshipped you ; and unworthy object 

though I feel myself to be, I trust [Looks 

up.] The devil ! 

Tuckle. 

[Advancing hoisterously.] Hallo, Bindle ! 
Looking for sixpences ? 

BlI^DLE. 

[Sophy goes into conservatory.] Er — no. I 
had dropped my eye-glasses. Have you come 
to see Mrs. Millington ? 

Tuckle. 

[Bather fiercely.] Yes. Any objection ? 

Bindle. 

[ With offensive httmility.] It is not for me 
to criticize Mrs. Millington's choice of friends. 
But I VL\?iy as well iiifoi-ra you that the lady is 
not at home. 



104 THE MISSING CARD 

TUCKLE. 
And I may as well inform you that she will 
be, in ten minutes time. {Sits K. of tahle.'] Are 
you here by appointment ? 

BlI^DLE. 

Er — not precisely. Are you ? 

TuCKLE. 

Well — practically. 

BlN^DLE. 

[Jealously.'] You have been invited ? 

TuCKLE. 

[Rehoctantly.'] Well, hardly that. [ With a 
sudden inspiration.'] But there is no need for 
formal invitations between Mrs. Millington and 
myself. I just drop in when I want to. What 
are you here for ? 

BiNDLE. 

[Mildly.] Eeally, Tuckle, we are old friends, 
but I do not think you have any right to ques- 
tion me like this. 

Ttjckle. 
Bin die, old man, you are concealing some- 
thing. Out with it ! Out with it ! 



THE MISSING CARD 105 

EllSTDLE. 

\AngrUyP\ Major Tuckle, I decline to be 
hectored. \Sits in armchair L.] If it comes 
to that, what are you 

Tuckle. 

{Excitedly^ as he catches sight of thefloivers 

on table R.] Bindle, what the devil are these ? 

[Rushes to flowers and holds them ujp. 

Bindle. 
To one so grossly ignorant of the first princi- 
ples of botany as yourself, it will suffice if I say 
that they are roses. [All this time Tuckle is 
tugging at something inside his own hat.'\ To 
any one else I might mention that they are 
Marechal JSTeils, and — 

Tuckle. 

[Suddenly displaying a similar hunch. ] Con- 
found it, sir, look at that ! 

Bindle. 

[Lamely.'] Oh ! You have brought her 
some, too, have you ? 

Tuckle. 
Yes ; they are her favorite flowers. 



Io6 THE MISSING CARD 

BiNDLE. 
Thank you, sii', but I am aware of the fact 
abeady. 

{Both walk angrily up stage^ then down. 
Finally. 

TUCKLE. 

"Well, Binclle, don't let us behave like chil- 
dren. Let us have all the cards on the table. 
/ have come to ask Mrs. JVIillington to marry 
me. [Sits L. 

BiNDLE. 

So have I. [Sits R. A pause. They eye 
each other. Then.'] Well, Tuckle, considering 
that I was here first, I think it would be more 
delicate on your part to retire. 

Tuckle. 

I like that ! You may have reached the 
house before me, but I started first. Recollect 
you passed me on the road. 

BiNDLE. 

[In conciliatory fashion.'] There's something 
in what you say, Tuckle. But in this case 1 
feel that it would be positively ungallant to 
Mrs. Millington if I were to give way. 

Tuckle. 

And I feel that it would be infernal rudeness 
to the dear creature if I retired. 



THE MISSING CARD lO/ 

BiNDLE. 

"Well, what is to be done ? We can't propose 
simultaneously. 

TUCKLE. 

Let us toss for it. 

BiNDLE. 

[Scathingly.'] My dear friend, we are not 
street-boys. 

TuCKLE. 

[Facetiously.'] "Well, I'll fight a duel with 
you. What's it to be — pom-poms or brickbats ? 

BiNDLE. 

Tuckle, at such a tense moment as this, friv- 
olity of any kind grates upon me. 

Tuckle. 

Well, dash it ! Suggest something yourself. 

BiNDLE. 

As a solicitor, I am in favor of submitting 
the whole affair to arbitration. 

Tuckle. 
Who is going to arbitrate — the parlor-maid ? 

Bundle. 
My dear sir, is this a moment for light bad- 
inage ? I Avas about to suggest a confidential 
conference with the Vicar. 



I08 THE MISSING CARD 

TUCKLE. 

By the time we had finished confidentially 
conferring with the Yicar, the afternoon would 
be over, and I — you — we should have to wind 
ourselves up afresh. 

BiNDLE. 

True! 

TuCKLE. 

Besides, my boy, the Yicar is a bachelor him- 
self. 

BlI^DLE. 

Well, Tuckle, though constitutionally averse 
to games of hazard in any form, I will consent 
— if you persist in declining to withdraw — to 
play you a game of — er — draughts; and the 
winner shall propose first. 

TuCKLE. 

{^Testily.'] My dear sir, there's no time. 
She'll be here in five minutes, l^o ; draughts 
are excluded. You might as well suggest 
croquet. 

BiNDLE. 

Well — picquet ? One hand. 

TuCKLE. 

I don't play. Ecarte ? 



THE MISSING CARD 109 

BiNDLE. 

I am unacquainted with the game. 

TUCKLE. 

Well, there is a box of cards over here. 
\Rises and goes E. to tahle.] I'll tell you what. 
I'll cut you through the pack for her ! 

BlI^DLE. 

^Plaintively.'] Tuckle, the card-playing so- 
ciety in which I move is doubtless formal and 
old-fashioned. Consequently I find this jai'gon 
of yours just a little obscure. 

Tuckle. 

I like that ! A lawyer complaining of ob- 
scure jargon ! Well, I'll explain. We lay the 
pack on this table, and go on drawing in turn 
until one of us draws a certain card, which we 
will fix on beforehand. He stays here and pro- 
poses to Mrs. Millington, and the other may go 
home to bed until he's sent for. 

Bijvtdle. 
Yery good. What is the winning card to be ? 

Tuckle. 
Anything you please. What do you suggest ? 

Bll^DLE. 

Ha — shall we say the Ace of Spades ? 



no THE MISSING CARD 

TUCKLE. 

What — old Mossy Face ? Confound it, man, 
haven't you a spark of sentiment about you ? 
The winning card shall be — the Queen of 
Hearts, and no other ! 

BiNDLE. 

[ Warming lop.'] By all means, my boy. A 
most appropriate choice. 

[They sit opposite sides o/ table. BiJSTDLE 
o?i E. TucKLE shtt]jles the jpack and 
draios the first card. 

TuCKLE. 

Mne of clubs. 

BlIsTDLE. 

{Drawing ra2ndly.~] Knave of spades ! 

TuCKLE. 

[Drawi/ng rajndly.'] Four of hearts ! 

BiNDLE. 

[Drawing rapidly.'] Six of hearts ! 

TuCKLE. 

[Draiuing ra/pidly.] King of spades ! 

BllS'DLE. 

\Draiuing rapidly ?\ Ace of clubs ! 



THE MISSING CARD III 

TUCKLE. 

{Drawing rapidly^ Ah ! the Queen of — 
dash it ! diamonds ! 

BiNDLE. 

{Drawing rapidly^ Nine of spades ! 

TuCKLE. 

{Drawing rapidly. 1 King of hearts ! That's 
a good omen for me, Bindle. The Queen is 
usually accompanied by the King, isn't she ? 

Bindle. 
[Drily.'] Or the knave ! You will recollect, 
Tuckle, that from all accounts the domestic 
relations of the Heart family were of the most 
unhappy description. {Drawing.] Three of 
diamonds ! 

Tuckle. 
{Drawing.] Ace of spades ! Why didn't I 
agree to that when you suggested it ? 

Bindle. 
{Drawing.] Seven of hearts ! 

Tuckle. 
{Drawing.] Six of clubs ! 

Bindle. 

{DroAjoing.] Knave of diamonds! I say, 
Tuckle ? 



112 THE MISSING CARD 

TUCKLE. 

\_Drawingr\ Five of clubs ! Well ? 

BiNDLE. 

Don't you think you'd better withdraw ? I 
vms here first, you know. And besides, you 
would probably be saving yourself a most pain- 
ful interview and a severe disappointment. 

TuCKLE. 

Confound your impudence, sir ! What grounds 
have you for making such an assertion ? 

BlNDLE. 

Well, if I may say so, Mrs. Millington is 
hardly suited, with her refined and sensitive 
nature, to a man of your — ah — stamp. [Draw- 
ing.] Queen of spades ! 

TuCKLE. 

And what the blazes do you mean by my 
"stamp," sir? It's not a six-and-eightpenny 
one, anyhow ! [Drawing.] Five of hearts ! 

Bundle. 

Tuckle, you are getting excited. Calm your- 
self. [Drawing.] Hang it all, the two of 
spades ! At your age, a sudden rush of blood 
to the head 



THE MISSING CARD II3 

TUCKLE. 

What has my age got to do with you, sir ? 
If it comes to that, how old are you ? 

BlNDLE. 

Ah — um — fifty-eight ! 

TucKLE. 
And you want to marry a woman on the 
right side of thirty ! Biudle, I am ashamed of 
you. 

BiNDLE. 

How old are you ? 

TuCKLE. 

\I)Tawingr\ Ten of spades ! 

BiNDLE. 

You are evading the question, sir. How old 
are you ? 

TuCKLE. 

Young enough to be your — your — nephew ! 

Bll^DLE. 

How old are you ? 

TucKLE. 

Fifty-seven. 



114 THE MISSING CARD 

BiNDLE. 
Speaking as a solicitor with a large family 
practice, I may state with confidence that for a 
man of fifty-eight to possess a nephew of fifty- 
seven is the rule rather than the exception. 
{Drawing^ Three of clubs ! 

TUCKLE. 

A man is as old as he feels. {Drawing^ 
King of diamonds ! I feel forty now ; I shall 
feel thirty-five when I set eyes on Mrs. Mill- 
ington; I shall feel thirty when I clasp her 
dear little hand 

BiNDLE. 

And by the time she has finished telling you 
exactly what she thinks of you, you'll feel about 
two-and-a-half ! {Drawing ?\ Ten of clubs ! 

[TucKLE gets ujp and stamps about. 

TuCKLE. 

You miserable old mummy ! For two pins 
I'd throw you out of the window. 

BlN^DLE. 

\_Calmly.~\ Threat of assault, accompanied 
by violent language ! Two pins wouldn't cover 
the expense. More like forty shillings — or a 
month. Your draw, I think. 



THE MISSING CARD II5 

TUCKLE. 

You infatuated old ass ! Do you think she'll 
look at you ? 

BiNDLE. 

[^Complacently.'] She has frequently achieved 
the feat, without apparently doing herself an 
injury. 

TucKLE. 
Bah ! You miserable pettifogging attorney ! 
You orphan-robber ! You widow-swindler ! 
You — you charitable-organization-fund-embez- 
zler ! 

BiNDLE. 

\_JRoused at last.] Sir, your words are action- 
able. [Mks. Millingtojn^ appears in the door- 
way^ I shall ring the bell, and we'll have a 

witness, and then perhaps {Rises and 

catches sight of Mks. Millington.] My dear 
Mrs. Millington ! 

Mrs. MiLLiNaTON. 

[Coming down and shaking hands with hoth.] 
How do you do, Mr. Bindle ? How do you do, 
Major ? How angelic of you both to wait till 
I came in. 1 was lunching at the Yicar's. 
[Rings hell.] His sister goes away to-morrow, 
you know, and I lingered over a last gossip 
with her, I'm afraid. Sit down and make 



Il6 THE MISSING CARD 

yourselves comfortable, and we'll have some 
tea. \Looks at tcMe.'] I see you have been 
amusing yourselves with a game of cards. 
Ecarte ? [Sits L. 

BiNDLE. 

[ Who has recovered his equanimity.^ No, 
dear lady. It is a new game which my friend 
Tuckle has been teaching me. Most amusing ! 

Mes. Milliitgton. 
Oh ! How do you play it ? 

Tuckle. 
Well, we cut through the pack in turn 

Bll^DLE. 

And the man who draws a particular card 

Tuckle. 
Takes the stake. 

Mrs. Millington. 

You wicked gamblers ! I suppose it was a 
very high stake, too. 

[Sophy enters from conservatory. 

Tuckle. 
{Confusedly 7[ Oh, no. A mere nothing. 

Bendle. 
A trifle, a trifle ! 



THE MISSING CARD 117 

Mrs. Millingtoi^. 
Tea, please, Sophy. Have you picked the 
flowers for the dinner-table yet ? 

Sophy. 

I am doing it just now, ma'am. The basket 
and scissors are still in the conservatory. 

Mes. MiLLiNaTo:N^. 
Well, bring in the tea, and I will get the 
flowers myself. You are a great gardener, I 
know, Mr. Bindle. Will you come and help 
me? It will bore you. Major, so you shall 
have a cigarette in here. We shan't be five 
minutes. [Bises. So does Bindle. 

TUCKLE. 

[To himself ?\ That fellow shall not be left 
alone with her. {Rises?^ My dear lady, how 
cruel ! May I not come too ? 

Mes. Millingtoit. 
Certainly. Come along, both of you. 

[They go out to the conservatory. As 
Mrs. Millington is leaving the 
room, Sophy enters with tea-tray. 

Sophy. 

[Qioietly.'] Please'm ! 



Il8 THE MISSING CARD 

MeS. MlLLIl^GTON. 

{Pausing^ Yes ? 

[TucKLE and Bindle go out. 

Sophy. 
Could I speak to you ? 

Mrs. MiLLiiiGTO]^. 

In a moment. {Exit. 

[Sophy jputs down tea-things on table L. 

Sophy. 
Such goings on ! At their time of life, too ! 
A pair of old images like that ! Still, half a 
crown from Bindle and five shillings from old 
Tuckle doesn't make a bad afternoon's work. 

{Enter Mrs. Millington, laughing. 

Mrs. Millington. 

{Loohing hack into the conservatory^ There, 
I've left them quite happy for the moment. 
Mr. Bindle is syringing the geraniums and wet- 
ting himself, and the Major is smoking green 
fly off the roses and choking himself. {Glajps 
her hands and chuckles softly as she comes down.'] 
Well, Sophy, what is it this time ? Or rather, 
who is it ? The butcher or the postman ? 

{Sits L. 
Sophy. 

{Simpering."] Oil, it's nothing of the kind 
this time, ma'am. Thanking you all the same. 



THE MISSING CARD II9 

You are always so kind. But I'm engaged to 
the young gentleman at the grocer's just now. 
His eyes are dark gray 

Mrs. Millington. 
Sophy, did you bring me in here to tell me 
that ? 

Sophy. 

[Beccdling herself from an attitude of rap- 
tureJ] No, ma'am. It's about you. 

Mrs. Millington. 

About me f 

Sophy. 

Yes, ma'am. I wanted to say that you ought 
to be careful with those two old gentlemen. 

Mrs. Millington. 
[Startled.'] What on earth do you mean, 
Sophy ? 

Sophy. 
Well, ma'am, Mr. Bindle called this afternoon, 
as you know. There was rather an odd look in 
his eye, and when he heard you weren't at 
home he said could he wait ? And when I said 
yes, of course, he — acted rather strangely. 
Then the Major called, and he acted the same, 
only more stranger still, ma'am. I put them 



I20 THE MISSING CARD 

both in here, and then I went into the conserva^ 
tory to get the flowers for the table. Being in 
there, I couldn't help 

Mrs. Millington. 
Sophy, you listened ! 

Sophy. 
[ With great dignity?^ I could not heljp hear- 
ing something of what they said. They were 
talking about you, ma'am. 

MeS. MlLLIlS^aTON. 

Sophy, if I hadn't known you since you were 
a little girl, I should bundle you straight out of 
the house. I can't listen to this. \Itises. 

Sophy. 
You'll be sorry all your life if you don't, 
ma'am. Those two old creatures have both 
come to — to 

Mrs. Millington. 
\TuTnwig?\^ To what? 

Sophy. 
To ask you to marry them. . 

Mrs. Millington. 
[Incredulously.'] What? Those two old 
fossils ? 



THE MISSING CARD 121 

Sophy. 

Yes'm. And they were each so vexed when 
they found out what the other was after. And 
neither would go away. Mr. Bindle, he 
said 

Mes. Millitn^gton. 

Sophy, that will do. I can't listen to this 
tattle. As for you, you want shaking. I think 
I shall ask the young gentleman at the grocer's 
to do it. 

Sophy. 
And Major Tuckle, he said 



Mes. Millington. 

Go away ! 

Sophy. 

But of course they had to decide which was 
to ask you first 

Mes. Millit^gton. 

{Divided hetween angei' and amusement^ 
Sophy, will you go ? Sophy turns reluctantly f\ 
Stop ! I might as well know which of these 
dashing suitors I must avoid most carefully. 
Who is to ask me first ? 

Sophy. 

[Primly.'] I couldn't say, ma'am, I'm sure. 
By that time I had realized that I was overhear- 



122 THE MISSING CARD 

ing a private conversation, so of course I just 
shut my ears and w^ent on v^ith my w^ork. 
{Tearfully ?\ I should be the last to eavesdrop, 
whatever you may say, ma'am. I'm not that 
sort of girl, although — although I do v^ant 
shaking ! [ Weeps into her apron. 

Mes. Millingto]^. 

{Smiling.'] Well, I'm sorry if I hurt your 
feelings, Sophy. But it's no use turning on the 
w^aterworks with me, I've known you too long. 
Bottle your tears up for the young gentleman 
from the grocer's. Now run away, and I'll 
bring Mr. Bindle and Major Tuckle in to tea. 

Sophy. 

{Still sohhing.'] I — I did happen to hear one 
thing more, ma'am. My ears opened just for a 
moment when I was off my guard. I think 
they were settling to play cards for you. 

Mrs. Millington. 

The old wretches ! {Runs anid examines the 
cards on the tahle.'] I wonder what form the 
game took ? Did your ears hapjoen to open any 
more after that, Sophy ? 

Sophy. 

l^o, ma'am — except — I did hear something 
about the Queen of Hearts. 



THE MISSING CARD 1 23 

Mrs. Millington. 

\8oftly^ 0-o-oh ! I see now. So that was 
what they Avere cutting through the pack for ! 
"The man who draws a particular card takes 
the stake." Oh, does he ? The old villains ! 
Ask them to come in, Sophy. {Exit Sophy, l.] 
The Queen of Hearts, indeed ! {Bhe incks up 
the pack and ponders ^^ Now — ah! \_She picks 
out a card^ and, chuckling delightedly, takes it 
to a side table and puts it into an envelope, 
which she addresses?^ 

\_Reenter Sophy, giggling. 

Sophy. 

They are so cross with each other, ma'am ! 

The Major has blown some of that green fly 

smoke into Mr. Bindle's eye, and Mr. Bindle 

has syringed the Major's waistcoat. \_Exit, 

[_£?i^6r 'Bindle and Tuckle, glaring at 

each other. Bii^DLE is wiping his eye, 

and TucKLE is patting his waistcoat 

with his handkerchief. 

Mrs. Millington. 
Come in, both of you. Everything is ready, 
except the kettle. By the way {pointing to 
table], did you finish your game ? 

TuCKLE. 

Er — no. 



124 THE MISSING CARD 

Mrs. Millington. 
Well, why not finish it off before tea ? 

Bundle. 
It's of no consequence, dear lady. 

Mes. Milli]s^gton. 
Was the stake as insignificant as all that ? 

TUCKLE. 

{Bounding up.'] By Jove, we will finish 
now ! Come along, Bindle. 

BiNDLE. 

By all means. On the same terras ? 

[They regard each other fixedly for a 
moment., then TucKLE nods with mean- 
ing., and they hegin drawing cards 
again. They call out the cards quicMy 
till there are only four left. Bindle 
sits E., TucKLE L. of table. Mes. 
MiLLiNGTON stands behind it. On 
cue ''''Ace of diamonds.'''' 

Mes. Millington. 
Only four left ! And the winning card hasn't 
turned up yet. How exciting ! 

[Bindle and Tuckle pause. Tuckle 
wipes his brow. BiNDLE surrepti- 
tiously gets out a tabloid and eats it. 



THE MISSING CARD 125 

BiNDLE. 
{Drawing ?\^ Eight of spades ! 

TUCKLE. 

\_Drawi7ig.'] Queen of — clubs ! 

BiNDLE. 

[J)rawi7ig.'] My last card. [Despairingly.'] 
Four of diamonds ! [Groans. 

TuCKLE. 

[Triumphantly turning icp the last card.] 
And here at last is the — confound and dash it ! 
— the three of spades ! Where the dev — ha — 
h'um ! [Coughs. 

Both. 
Where is the Queen of Hearts ? 

MeS. MlLLIITGTOlS^. 

[Much distressed.] Oh, was it the Queen of 
Hearts you were after ? I am so sorry. I took 
it out of the pack just now. I — I wanted it. 

Both. 
What on earth for ? 

Mes. MiLLiNaTON. 

[Kneeling on floor, with her elbows on the 
table / rather confusedly.] Well, you are both 
such dear old friends of mine that I will tell 



126 THE MISSING CARD 

you. You shall be the first to — to know. \Boih 
start. 'I To-day I had a talk with the Yicar. 

Both. 
Ah! 

Mes. Millington. 
Curiously enough, we were discussing card 
games. He said he used to be a constant whist- 
player at the University, but now he thought it 
better not to play at all, although he loved it. 
It gave him a clear conscience, he said, when 
he preached against gambling. Wasn't it noble 
of him ? {Both muinhle something inarticulate^ 
Then he asked me to marry him ! 

\A horrified gasp from BiNDLE and 

TUCKLE. 

BiNDLE. 

\In a strained voice.] I fail to see the con- 
nection between card games and a proposal. 

Mes. Millington. 
Ah ! he did it so beautifully. [Inaptly.] He 
asked me to be his Queen of Hearts ! 

TuCKLE. 



The blackguard ! 

BiNDLE. 

The unprincipled rascal ! 



THE MISSING CARD 12/ 

TUCKLE. 

Besides, he's a mere boy. 

BiNDLE. 

An irresponsible infant ! 

TucKLE. 
Barely thirty-six ! 

BiNDLE. 

Thirty -five, at the outside ! 

Mes. MiLLii^aToi^. 

[ Who appears not to have heard.'] Wasn't it 
clever of him to work it in that way ? 

Both. 
Did you accept him ? 

Mes. MiLLiNGTOJsr. 
Well, dear friends, I asked for a little time 
to think it over. But now my mind is made 
up. I am so happy ! \_She rises and goes to 
taMe E., talces the card and envelope^ and comes 
down. Holds up card.] The Queen of Hearts ! 
There is his answer, the dear fellow ! {Rings 
hell, and fastens up envelope. BiNDLE and 
TucKLE sit transfixed. Enter Sophy.] Sophy, 
tell John to ride over with this to the Yicarage 
at once. {Exit Sophy. Mes. Millington 



128 THE MISSING CARD 

comes dow7i.] Well, haven't you two anything 
to say to me ? 

\_There is a jpattse. Then Tuckle rises 
resolutely and takes her hand. 

Tuckle. 
Mrs. Millington, will you accept the heart- 
iest congratulations of — an old fogy ? 

{Kicks BiiS'DLE gently under the table. 

BiNDLE. 

\Not to he outdone ^ taking her other ha7id.'\ 
Mrs. Millington, will you accept the very kind- 
est wishes of one who has always regarded you 
as — a daughter ? 

{They each kiss a hand of hers. 

Mes. Millington. 

[ Quite ove?'co77ie.'] Oh, thank you so much ! 
You a?'e nice ! 

[BiNDLE and Tuckle go e. and get 
their hats, etc. Each sicrrej>titiously 
stuffs his roses inside his hat. Mes. 
Millington goes down l. 

Tuckle. 
Now we must be off, Bindle. 

BiNDLE. 

Quite right. Good-afternoon, dear Mrs. Mill- 
ington. [Shaking hands. 



THE MISSING CARD 1 29 

Mes. Millington. 
But surely you will stay to tea ? 

TUCKLE. 

{Shaking hands.'] I'm afraid not, thank 
you. Bindle and I have a call to pay. 

Mes. Millington. 
Another ? 

EiNDLE. 

Yes. We are going to the Yicarage to offer 
our felicitations to — er — the future King of 
Hearts ! 

TucKLE. 
[Explosively^ taking Bindle's arm and going 
up,] E'o — dash it all ! — the knave ! Come on, 
Bindle ! 

{They pause in the doorway^ and look 
hack at Mes. Millingto]^, who is 
facing the audience. 

TuCKLE. 

Bindle, we've been a pair of old fools. 

Bindle. 

Yes. But we drew back in time. She'll 
never know now. 



I30 THE MISSING CARD 

TUCKLE. 
Yes, that's a comfort. She'll never know ! 
Come on, Mck ! 

BiNDLE. 

All right. Jack. {They go out arm in arm. 

Mrs. MiLLiNGTOis". 
\T%irning impulsively^ and holding out her 
hands to the empty doorway^ You oX^j^ets! 



CURTAIN 



OCT 30 1918 



/ 



gi, 5g^. Pnero'0 paps 

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THF MAfilSTRATF ^^.rce in Three Acts. Twelve males, four 
IUM4 ITIAULJIA i^ females. Costumes, modern; scenery, all 
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TDE SECOND MRS. TANQDERAY Sr/rL^r T.- 

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SWFFT T A VFNBFR comedy in Three Acts, Seven males, four 
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Scene, a single interior ; costumes, modern. Plays a 
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A WIFE WITBODT A SMILE ^X^^ f^Z^t:..^::, 

modem ; scene, a single interior. Plays a full evening. 



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AS Yftll I l¥F IT Comedy in Five Acts. Thirteen males, foui 
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